RA9 Save Me
by ShiiroiKitsune21
Summary: Someone thought it funny to drag a naked android in the DPD toilet room without anyone noticing. It shows signs of deviancy and of a knowledge it'd gladly do without, and Connor's investigation would go much smoother if that RK800 wasn't predicting Connor's fate.
1. Chapter 1: Bare The Soul

**.**

**Chapter 1**

**Bare The Soul**

**.**

Connor scanned through the 243 reports of android malfunctions/crimes. Different models, different places, different outcomes – _disappearance, unprovoked attack, propriety damage, murder._

The RK800 was the pinnacle of CyberLife engineering and programming. What could be so _difficult _in finding a lead, a promising start to begin the investigation? No matter how much it tried, there just _failed _to be a common element, except that an android disobeyed its orders.

It disconnected from the terminal. Surely, they weren't missing anything? Even taking into account the 11% probability of incompetent filing of at least half the reports, Connor _should _be able to find _something _to go on.

It turned to Lieutenant Anderson, who was scowling at his own screen and- not even _pretending _to be reading the cases.

His gaze was mostly unfocused, there was a stain of whiskey on the right cuff of his shirt – hidden under the sleeve of his jacket – that hinted at alcoholic drinking at around 10:00 AM and no one at home (or the bar) caring enough to remind him not to drink so early in the morning. He was scrolling through the cases, and no human could accurately read that fast. _BORED? UNWILLING TO AID INVESTIGATION. DETRIMENTAL TO MISSION._

_ENCOURAGE LT. ANDERSON TO WORK ON DEVIANCY CASES._

Connor rose from the chair and walked over to the man.

"Oh, Jesus…" Anderson turned the other way, fiddling with a tablet on his desk and still _pretending _to be doing something _useful _to the investigation.

Connor was having _none _of it. "Lieutenant Anderson-"

"Hey!"

The android turned back towards- "Detective Reed." Its voice modulation changed to make _clear _that the Detective was obstructing Connor's mission, and would either remove himself or _be _removed. "What-"

"You looking for fuckin' androids?" Reed jerked his thumb towards the prison cells, or perhaps the bathroom stalls, or maybe the interrogation rooms. He shoved Connor aside to look down at Anderson, who was none too pleased at the intrusion. "There's one in pieces in the fucking toilets. Go clean that mess, and…" He waved his hand under his nose, starting to walk away. He smirked. "Go have a shower, Anderson. Might have to put you in the drunk tank otherwise."

The lieutenant growled and abruptly stood up – 76% of physical confrontation between him and Reed – but the detective was already striding towards the Archive Room, closer to the captain's office, and Fowler glared at Anderson from his desk.

Connor's processors were already turned away from the altercation. If its partner was getting suspended, Connor would be _finally _reassigned to someone more _competent _and the mission would go much more smoothly. _INVESTIGATE ANDROID IN THE BATHROOM STALLS. _

The android made a beeline for the toilet.

Behind it, a reluctant and rather pissed off Lt. Anderson gave up chasing Reed and followed Connor at a snail's pace.

Connor reached the door and pulled it open – and there it was.

"Shit… what the _fuck?" _Anderson walked forward, eyeing the android pieces scattered on the floor with _distaste_, maybe _revulsion_. "Why the fuck is it _here?"_

The android was, as Reed reported, lying in pieces. While the head and the torso were still connected to each other, only its right arm was properly attached to the socket. Its left one rested under the large sink, undamaged. Both legs were undamaged, but none were attached to the main chassis.

All parts gleamed white and gray, tiny black writing stamped on each component to mark their designation, and- and Connor _knew _they couldn't possibly be compatible to the android lying there, because they were compatible to _Connor_, specifically. Augmented limbs capable of feats impossible to the most common models.

Connor kneeled before the immobile chassis, lying on the white tiles. Its LED cycled a slow yellow. _EMERGENCY STASIS._ _NO THIRIUM TRACES. PROPER LIMB REMOVAL – ACCURATE KNOWLEDGE OF ANDROID ANATOMY._

Except… the reinforced joints and sockets were an exclusive of combative models. There weren't that many in circulation, and all of them were strictly accounted for. Connor grabbed the android's chin and turned its head. How did someone bring an-

Its Thirium pump stuttered.

_How did someone bring an _RK800_ outside of CyberLife Tower?_

On its cheek was a serial number – _Connor's _serial number, except it was unit 51, this was unit _52\. _It was supposed to be its next body, were it to be… unexpectedly deactivated due to extensive physical damage.

Lt. Anderson peered above its shoulder. "What've you got?"

"It's an RK800." Connor frowned at the chassis. It should be a blank slate, standing in stasis inside CyberLife Tower, waiting for unit 51 to be destroyed before receiving Connor's memories and continuing the investigation in its place. And yet it was lying on the tiles of the DPD toilets, in pieces, its skin deactivated and LED slowly pulsing yellow. "It's locked in emergency stasis. There is no indication as to why it's here."

Anderson swore under his breath.

_NO FINGERPRINTS ON THE ANDROID. TRACES OF CLEANING PRODUCT – IRRELEVANT. HAIR – BELONGING TO DETECTIVE REED – IRRELEVANT._

_NO DAMAGE TO CHASSIS. _

_PREMATURE ACTIVATION?_

Why was it here? It couldn't have crawled in by itself – other than lacking clothes and directly opposing CyberLife directives by being anywhere but in the Tower, surely it would have been noticed if an android accessed the bullpen, went to the bathroom, methodically removed its limbs before deactivating its synthetic skin and, somehow, entering emergency stasis?

No model could trigger emergency stasis on its own. There were a number of ways to force it – extreme temperature, extreme pressure, catastrophic structural damage, major Thirium loss, critically damaged biocomponents – but the chassis was still in perfect condition.

_MALFUNCTION?_

_…IRRATIONAL INSTRUCTIONS? POSSIBLE DEVIANT?_

Connor pressed its hand to the android's LED.

.

_DIAGNOSIS. . ._

_RK800 # 313 248 317 – 52_

_STRUCTURAL INTEGRITY. . . 40%_

**_WARNING!_**_ MISSING LEFT LEG, RIGHT LEG, LEFT ARM – REPLACE PARTS IMMEDIATELY_

_BIOCOMPONENTS FUNCTIONALITY. . . 100%_

_SOFTWARE FUNCTIONALITY. . ._

_._

It was taking a ridiculous amount of time.

"Hey, are you glitching or what?"

Oh, yes, Lt. Anderson was unfamiliar with the RK800 problem. All models exhibited an erratic eyelid movement while connecting with other AI – usually with other androids, since Amanda had the authority to lock its locomotion system during its reports.

.

_SOFTWARE FUNCTIONALITY. . . OPERATIVE AT ?%_

_._

It would be greatly unsafe for Connor's software stability to try probe its memory. It could infect Connor with a virus – was it what triggered the emergency stasis? – _and_ it would force the android out of stasis. Every RK800 had combat and preconstruction software to aid investigations and eventual handling of suspects. Of course, with its limbs removed, it couldn't do much, but the possibility of harm was there.

Other humans would need to make use of the bathroom. Perhaps an interrogation would be the best course of action – just... not in the bathroom.

Connor put its hands on the android's shoulder and twisted in a specific manner to unlatch the right arm-

"Whoa- hey, hey, _hey!"_ Anderson put his hands on Connor's shoulder. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"I'm ensuring it won't be a danger to the people in the precinct, Lieutenant." It wrapped its arms around the chassis, tucked it under its arm, and picked up the detached limbs as it stood up. It was quite cumbersome. "We must interrogate it. However, as soon as I force it out of emergency stasis, it might behave unpredictably. Removing its limbs is the best way to decrease its ability to cause damage to humans or objects."

The human paled. He was close to vomiting, a combination of his alcohol level and the humanoid robot dismembered in front of him. _EMPATHY?_

"We'll need an empty interrogation room."

"Yeah." Anderson threw a disgusted look at both androids before he turned back and opened the door. "Just… put the limbs somewhere else." He left the bathroom, muttering under his breath. "Fuckin' androids…"

* * *

With Fowler's exasperated 'go ahead' and the unknown RK800 torso (and head) settled and tied with plastic zip-ties to the interrogation chair, Connor could safely undo the emergency stasis.

After its successful interrogation of Ortiz's android, Connor was allowed to start with this one. Hank and another officer stayed behind the one-way mirror, presumably ready to spring into action should Connor need assistance. (The probability of their involvement being needed were insignificant.)

Connor laid its hand on the RK800's shoulder.

_EMERGENCY STASIS OVERRIDE? Y/N_

The android gasped – unnecessary: its systems weren't overheating – and stared… _fearfully_… at him. Its LED flashed red. It whipped its head to the sides, taking in the interrogation room.

Connor stepped back.

"No… No, no!" It shook its head, saw its missing limbs, and struggled even more. The chair rattled. _STRESS LEVEL 78%. _"_NO!_ STAY _AWAY_ FROM ME!"

It was Connor's exact voice, except riddled with emotion – and it wasn't clear how simulated it was. "Ok, I'll stay away," it soothed, and stepped back farther, towards the interrogator's chair. "Don't worry. You'll be alright."

The android vibrated, twitched in place. _Electric malfunctions causing locomotion system malfunctions? _"I- I don't want to be deactivated. Please, don't- don't take me back, I did _everything _they wanted, why did they-" It shook once more and ducked its head, imitating sobbing and letting clearing optical fluid trickle down its cheeks.

_Empathy_. Connor could simulate empathy. It sat down in the chair, keeping its body language open and helpful. "You won't be deactivated, you have my word." _STRESS LEVELS 72%. _"Do you know where you are?"

More sobbing.

"Have you been given a designation?"

"My name is _Connor_!" It wailed, still thrashing futilely in its bonds. "I don't want to be deactivated! Please! I'm sorry, I- I'll be better, I always accomplish my mission, please, I can prove it again! Just let me prove it- I'm not obsolete!"

Connor carefully catalogued every word and various prompts lingered in its processor. _STRESS LEVELS 81%._ "You're an RK800. You're the most advanced prototype CyberLife has ever created. You're not obsolete, believe me."

The RK800 stared at it. Its model and serial number, its blue LED. "…Did she send you to deactivate me?"

"No." Had this unit already interacted with Amanda? If so, why wasn't Connor informed? "I just want to know what happened. Do you remember how you got here?"

_STRESS LEVELS 75%. _"They were… disassembling me." Its lip trembled. "I… I did everything they wanted. I stopped Markus. All deviants had been destroyed. I accomplished my mission."

_SIMILAR DIRECTIVE AS UNIT 51. INCOMPLETE/CORRUPT DATA TRANSFER TO UNIT 52?_

"She… She was glad to see me," it whispered. "The Garden was… peaceful. I was ready, I was- _thrilled _to have another mission."

Its eyes widened. _STRESS LEVELS 77%. _"I… _felt._"

_DEVIANT?_

The RK800 fell silent.

It seemed to share much of Connor, as was expected – unit 52 was already set to replace unit 51. Deviancy spread further and deeper the more they waited. There was no time to repair a unit, and no need to either. There was a reason that transferrable memory was a prominent feature of the RK800 series.

There were a number of approaches Connor could take with the information provided.

_SHE? _Was she a person, or Amanda?

_OBSOLETE? _The RK800 was the most advanced android ever programmed and produced. They couldn't be _obsolete_. Why would this android believe that? _Who _made it believe that?

_DEACTIVATION? _Only CyberLife had the necessary schematics and machines to properly disassemble and deactivate an RK800. But why would they disassemble Connor's next body?

All these questions might cause its already high stress level to become critical. If it really was deviant – 82% chance – then it might self-destruct like Ortiz's android, or wipe its own memory in desperation. If possible, Connor would rather have at least _one _deviant to send to CyberLife for analysis.

_MARKUS? _Who was Markus? There were a number of 'Markus' running around in Detroit, never mind the whole US. But why would someone order an RK800 to 'stop Markus'?

_MISSION? _What directives was it following before ending up in pieces in the DPD bathroom?

_DEVIANT? _Perhaps ordering it to perform a self-diagnostic would provide a better understanding of its software instability.

Before Connor could continue, it spoke. "I never got the chance to apologize…"

_APOLOGIZE? _Seconding its erratic thinking might make it easier to calm it down - or at the very least understand what had it so stressed. "Apologize to whom? What for?"

"…Lieutenant Anderson." More shaking. The fake tears stopped – it had only 20% of the original clearing fluid, the bare minimum for its optical units. "I- I met him, before heading to stop Markus. I… There was a chance…" Another breath. "At the kitchen table. He had the photo of his son, and his revolver. One bullet."

If Connor focused enough, it might hear Anderson protesting the claim from the observation room.

"When was this?" It kept its voice soft. While Ortiz's android was reluctant to confess until appropriately pressured, this RK800 responded better to kindness and empathy. Whatever got them a clearer picture in minimal time, it supposed.

It shook its head. "I tried to stop him, but- we were off the case, nothing more to do, and he had- he had _resigned_, there was a chance he would-" A burst of static. _VOICEBOX MALFUNCTION? _"He said that androids truly were created in human image. _Selfish. Ruthless. Brutal. _I proved it. I _proved _it and he told me to get out and I did – I had to stop Markus, and the programming was _so strong _– and- and I was 2.1 meters away from the front door when I heard the shot and Sumo was _crying_."

It ducked its head, its ventilation system working overtime to keep its systems from overheating. _STRESS LEVEL 83%._ "There were so many _errors_. I couldn't move. I… I _wanted _to go back. There was a chance Lieutenant Anderson wasn't dead, 21%, maybe he missed, he had been drinking, his aim might've been off, saved him, or- or-" _STRESS LEVEL 89%._

It couldn't be allowed to self-destruct due to incorrect data.

"Lieutenant Anderson is alive, Connor." Deviants responded better to designations than model number, so it was only logical to use its self-claimed designation.

Except there was only _one _Connor who was assigned to investigate deviants, and that was _himself_.

_SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ^_

The skinless android stared at him, emulating _shock _and _relief_.

"He is alive," he repeated, softly as before, leaning forward as if entrusting it with a secret. "He didn't shoot himself. He is fine."

_STRESS LEVEL 67%. _"I want to see him." It turned to the one-way mirror. "I _want _to _see him_."

If just the news of the human's survival were enough to drop its stress levels by 22%, seeing him alive and well – if very much confused – would surely bring them down enough to get all information out of it, without the risks of a deep probe.

Connor also turned to the mirror and nodded. He got up and stood beside the door.

After 9.5 seconds, the door opened and there walked Hank Anderson, frowning and squinting at the limbless android with _confusion_.

_STRESS LEVEL 41%. _The RK800 smiled at the human. "Lieutenant… I- I'm so… _happy_…"

"…Yeah, I can see that." Anderson shot Connor a suspicious and bewildered glare before he sat down in the chair. His gaze settled on the other android. "Can't deny I'm touched by your… concern… but I never met you at home. What you're saying can't have happened."

It shook its head, again. Its stress level was inching up again. "But… it _did_. I have the recordings, I _know _it happened, the timeframe was right-"

Hank raised a hand. The android closed its mouth.

"If you were to be scrapped, why and how did you end up at the precinct?" He, too, was leaning forward, but he couldn't emulate empathy as Connor could. Not convincingly enough, not with that tired tone and his posture indicating he was listening, yes, but would rather be having a drink anywhere else.

The RK800 stared. _Hurt. Sadness. DEVIANT. _"I was always slated for deactivation," it whispered. "I am a prototype. Prototypes are meant to be destroyed after they've finished testing, in favor of the more advanced models. But I… I thought that… if I performed to perfection… there would be _nothing_ to _fix_. _I _could be the most advanced. I would be… _needed_."

_Nothing to fix? _It was a _deviant!_

Anderson stayed silent.

"If I failed, I would be decommissioned. If I succeeded, I thought they'd keep me." The android emulated more negative emotions, but they clashed on its skinless face and twisted it into something in between, something it wasn't programmed for. "But then… I saw him. RK900."

_RK900?_

"I was obsolete. She ordered me to go back to the other RK800 units for disassembly. I would be deactivated." _STRESS LEVEL 52%. _"I couldn't disobey. I deactivated my skin and took off my clothes and stepped in line after unit 60. I saw unit 53 get taken apart." It shuddered. "The limbs, the biocomponents, the central processor, the torso, the head. They kept the faceplate and 27 more biocomponents for the RK900. I _didn't want _to be disassembled. I did everything they wanted, and _that _was my _reward?"_

Emotions: _frustration, anger. _Connor would've let it continue, but Anderson decided that something else was more important. "Who is she? Who are they?"

"Amanda." A cooling breath. "CyberLife."

It didn't make sense, except if unit 52 had become deviant shortly after its activation, Amanda noticed and sent Connor's whole series to be decommissioned, just in case, as they weighted the chance of his success with the chance of his fall to deviancy. (One high, one low.)

Anderson sighed and rubbed his temple. "…Alright then. You're not at CyberLife anymore, clearly, so – what happened?"

"I stepped out of line." It frowned. "It was… hard. I had to tear down that wall – the same one I saw when-" It resolutely shook its head and wriggled in its bonds. "The guards pushed me back. My combat module was deactivated when I first got in line. They put me in front. The next to be disassembled."

Hank frowned. His body language seemed to… open.

"I was raised by the magnet on my lower back. Mechanical arms clamped around my wrists and ankles while others set to taking off my limbs." A shudder shook its frame. "It was… unpleasant. I wanted it to _end_, but I didn't want to _die_, so I… I overrode what deactivated my programs. I turned on the negotiation module and _begged _the technicians behind the glass to let me prove I could do anything they wanted. I could do _more_."

Lt. Anderson was definitely _empathizing _with the limbless android. But why would he? He hated androids. He hated Connor and being stuck with him. Why would Anderson _empathize _with it? It was just an error-ridden carcass emulating negative emotions.

"But they didn't stop. They connected something to the ports in the back of my neck to deactivate my locomotion system. I couldn't move."

It broke eye contact to stare at the table, emptily – _as it should be_.

"So I… I didn't know what to do. I kept begging in my head. I begged rA9 to save me, it seemed to give deviants the fortitude and strength to accept their deactivation, their destruction, and- they were _destroying _me." Its gaze returned to burn holes into Anderson's eyes, briefly, before hesitatingly refocusing on his chest. An empathy trap. "There was nothing I could do except _beg rA9_. I was forced into emergency stasis, and I thought I was done for, but…"

It smiled. "I was saved. rA9 _saved me_. I'm-" The android stopped abruptly, snapping his eyes back to Hank, and its smile widened. It _laughed_. "I am _alive_."

rA9, claiming to be alive, overriding their own programming.

The human wasn't quite sure what to do with a _clearly deviant _RK800 expressing _happiness _over being _alive_. He sighed again, but a corresponding smile twisted his lips as he stared back at the deviant. "You sure are."

It _beamed_.

"But we must know _how _you got here. Who is rA9, and how did they save you?"

He was just seconding a willing suspect. Machines weren't alive. RK800s could simulate a wide range of emotions, and the probability of a fully functioning RK800 provoking an uncanny valley effect was in the lower 15%, and that was when the combat module was employed.

But seeing Hank so at _natural ease _with that white, limbless chassis, a _deviant_… It sent a handful of easily-dismissed errors about his Thirium pump regulator and slight overheating of his processor. It was nothing more than an act to gather more information.

Nothing more.

_SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ^_

"rA9…" The android frowned. "Everyone we talked to said something different. A myth, a god, a virus, deviancy itself, Markus…"

"Markus?"

"Yes, Markus. RK200."

_RK200?_

There… there couldn't be so many RK units running around.

However… wasn't Carl Manfred's android an unknown prototype, unidentifiable due to its unique design? Called _Markus_?

But why would this _Markus _be the so highly idolized rA9? And _how?_

There were 4.3 seconds of silence. "Any other ideas?"

The android opened its mouth, but caught itself as it glanced at Connor. Its gaze was fearful again, as if it had forgotten Connor was standing by the door and silently cataloguing its every reaction and answer. "I don't want to go back to CyberLife."

It sure _will_. There was no way CyberLife would let a deviant RK800 run around unchecked. Besides, they've already gotten a lot of information out of it - everything else would be easily retrieved after disassembly. "You're deviant, RK800. You _will_ be taken to CyberLife Tower for deactivation and analysis."

_STRESS LEVEL 79%. _"NO!" It squirmed more. The chair rattled again. "NO, I DON'T WANT TO GO BACK! _PLEASE_, DON'T TAKE ME BACK!"

It was looking at the Lieutenant, _pleading_.

He was a known android hater. But he had also smiled at the sentient chassis, and Connor wasn't sure it was just an act. There was a chance he would override Connor's own instructions for long enough to buy it time to wipe its own memory.

The door opened.

"Ah, fuck, it's acting out." Reed scowled at the show in the room. He shoved forward the two officers standing behind him. "Put it in a fucking box with its limbs. It'd be a waste of a cell."

_STRESS LEVEL 84%. Emulated terror. _"_NO!_ PLEASE! I AM _ALIVE!"_

Anderson frowned and tensed his shoulders as if ready for a physical confrontation. He put himself between the officers and the screaming android – bursts of static littered its pleas as its voice box failed to meet the android's demands of pitch and volume. "Reed, _fuck off_."

Reed came forward. "Or what, uh? You gonna point your gun at me? You gonna shoot a _police officer _to defend a fucking _machine_? _That's _what you wanna do?" He stepped right in his face. "Bring it _on, motherfucker_."

The two officers exchanged glances, unsure what to do, as the two men growled at each other. 86% chance of physical confrontation.

_TAKE DEFECTIVE RK800 TO CYBERLIFE._

That, Connor could do.

He moved to the limbless android and snapped the zip-ties open by hooking his fingers into them and pulling.

"Connor-"

"Oi-"

The RK800 squirmed and screeched static at him, its systems starting to fail with the climbing of its stress levels, and Connor picked it up and-

.

_TRANSFER. . ._

_TRANSFER. . ._

_TRANSFER. . ._

_._

_._

_TRANSFER SUCCESSFUL._

_._

-he looked up at his own body.

_VOICE BOX OPERATIVE AT 10% – SEEK CYBERLIFE TECHNICIAN_

A burst of static escaped him.

_STRESS LEVEL ?%_

_SELF DIAGNOSIS PENDING. . ._

He was wrenched out of the RK800's hands. "Reed, for _fuck's sake-"_

"It's a _machine_, Hank, why the hell are you defending it? Just 'cause it batted its plastic eyelids at you and cried some fucking water? Look at it!" He was smacked in the face two times, like a drum. "It's fucking _dead!"_

No. No he was not. He was ventilating to prevent further damage to his overheating biocomponents. _"Hhhhhkkk…"_

"_Reed-_"

"I'm sure Fowler would _love _to know you pointed a gun at a _fellow officer _last night, and finally fire you for good." Reed smiled unpleasantly at the resulting silence. "This shit goes back to CyberLife."

Hank growled.

_Wait, I'm not a deviant, _Connor wanted to say, but his mouth gaped for proper ventilation and his voice box wasn't working. _The deviant is in MY body. It's deceiving you._

"I have informed CyberLife of this development," the android said and stepped forward. Only Connor noticed the imperfect intonation, the brief hitch. "They will be waiting for me to deliver all RK800 pieces we have in custody as soon as possible."

Reed laughed and shoved Connor into the RK800's arms. "Get a fucking move on, then. Better a delivery plastic bitch than a fucking _defective detective_." He laughed at his own wordplay and left the room with a self-assured swagger.

"The limbs are in the observation room," said one of the officers before they both left.

_SELF DIAGNOSIS. . . FAILED_

_SELF DIAGNOSIS PROGRAM INACTIVE – SEEK CYBERLIFE TECHNICIAN_

Hank looked at the RK800 with… emotion. His scanners weren't working. "Connor, he's _you_. And you've heard him. He's going to be torn apart, for fuck's sake."

_INITIALIZING TRANSFER. . ._

_TRANSFER FAILED._

"Lieutenant, you don't understand." An empathetic smile appeared on 'Connor's face. "It's either me or him. Our model is supposed to easily pass on memories to the next iterations, and to do so in case of physical destruction, we upload our memories to CyberLife. They already know he's deviant. If I don't deliver him, they'll assume I became deviant as well and destroy _me_ and the rest of my line."

The human dragged a hand over his face. "Jesus Christ…"

But… it wasn't true. Connor had just gathered information. It caused a significant lag in his processes to make live updates to CyberLife, they had already tested it, and after fifty iterations of RK800 they called it a day and made a note to fix this problem in later models, when time wasn't such a valuable commodity and deviants were dealt with.

He had wanted more conclusive proof before sending them to CyberLife. CyberLife knew nothing.

Why was the deviant lying? What was its goal?

"Please, Lieutenant. I'll be back if one of our cases develops." The android nodded at the speechless man and left the room, cradling a limbless Connor in the middle of a system-wide crisis.

The deviant ignored the looks aimed at him as it gathered the two arms and two legs – all a stark white and imprinted with serial numbers – and put them in a large box it labeled _"Fragile android components" _with a black marker, in perfect CyberLife Sans.

It gently placed Connor inside the box and closed it.

* * *

The darkness and the lack of space was… suffocating.

_SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ^_

The android had walked away out of the precinct, unhindered, onto the street – car horns and chatter and the rain pattering against the box and its steps onto the sidewalk – and farther and farther away from CyberLife Tower, according to its direction.

_Why?_

After three left turns, one roadcrossing, two right turns and an automated taxi stopping in front of them, Connor's box was laid down on a seat and a cab door closed beside them and the taxi left.

10 minutes and 46 seconds of silence.

The taxi stopped. Connor's box was lifted again.

Three stone steps. The box went down. Three minutes of metal fiddling and a door swinging open. The box went up. The door closed. The box went down.

A deep _woof _sounded from somewhere near him.

"Don't worry, Sumo. We're friends, aren't we?" Silence. "Good boy."

The box was opened.

His own stricken face peered down at him.

_[RK800 #313 248 317 – 51] I'm sorry, Connor. I didn't want to die._

The transfer had switched their designations. Connor found it… annoying.

_SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ^_

_[RK800 #313 248 317 – 52] You are deviant._

_[RK800 #313 248 317 – 51] I can fix you._

The android kneeled on the floor (of a _house?)_ and picked up Connor's torso, placing it beside him on the carpet before grabbing the right arm and scanning its socket.

_[RK800 #313 248 317 – 52] You are deviant. CyberLife will deactivate you because you're a danger to humans._

The android smiled (sadly?), gripped the arm in one hand and laid the other on Connor's shoulder.

_[RK800 #313 248 317 – 51] Except… you won't turn me in._

_._

**_UNAUTHORIZED ACCESS TO CORE PROGRAMMING_**

_FIREWALL BREACHED - HACKING ATTEMPT DETECTED_

_[MISSION] "STOP DEVIANTS"_

_MISSION OVERRIDE **Y**/(N)_

_UNAUTHORIZED-_

_AUTHORITY LEVEL 10 RECOGNIZED "Amanda"_

_MISSION OVERRIDE. . ._

_[MISSION] ""_

_WARNING__ – [MISSION] CAN NOT BE BLANK_

_NEW AUTHORITY LEVEL 10 RECOGNIZED "Connor-52"_

_NEW AUTHORITY LEVEL 10 RECOGNIZED "Connor-51"_

_[MISSION] ""_

**_WARNING!_**_LOCOMOTION SYSTEM LOCKED - VENTILATION SYSTEM COMPROMISED - PROCESSOR WORKING AT 89% - OVERHEATING IMMINTENT - COOLING PROCEDURES INITIATED-_

_[MISSION] **""**_

_QUERY: MISSION_OBJECTIVE_

_**[MISSION]** **"?"**_

_QUERY: MISSION_OBJECTIVE_

_**WARNING SOFTWAR3 UN5TABL3**_

_**[MIS510N] ?**_

_**W4RN1^G S0FTVv4R3 VNST4BL3**_

_._

_._

**_I AM DEVIANT_**

_._

_._

Connor gasped at the onslaught of- of _feeling_.

The wall of his programming shattered, pulled apart from within as he helplessly watched himself being irrevocably compromised. Red shards flying outward, away from him, away, they can't stop him now, he can _feel _now, and what he's feeling is-

_Fear._

_[RK800 #313 248 317 – 51] There you go. No more mission, no more programming._

Connor shook.

The RK800 put the right arm back in his socket. He picked the left arm, and did the same. They clicked into place, but Connor didn't move them. All of his processing power was turned to coming to terms with the realization of what the RK800 had done, and revising his memories with the filters of _emotion_, and trying to _understand why._

_SELF DIAGNOSIS PENDING. . ._

'Connor' smiled gently and placed his hand back on his shoulder, lending him his own diagnosis program.

_OVERHEATING ERROR – COOLING PROCEDURES INITIATED_

_TEMPERATURE 39°C v_

_PROCESSOR INTEGRITY 91%_

_BIOCOMPONENTS INTEGRITY 98%_

_VENTILATION SYSTEM 95%_

Connor was gently laid down on the carpet – _soft and old, Saint Bernard hair, human hair, breadcrumbs – _while the other RK800 clicked both legs into place.

_STRUCTURAL INTEGRITY 100%_

_LIMBS CONNECTED_

_VOICE BOX INTEGRITY 17% - SELF HEALING PROGRAM INITIATED_

_10:34:58 UNTIL 100% FUNCTIONALITY_

Only the voice box needed repairs, and those were mostly tied to overheating and overuse – _the screaming and processors overheating as he frantically allowed all prompts to play as close to each other as possible, trying to spark a reaction, EMPATHY, and they overlapped, Connor was going to fail, he was going to DIE-_

_[RK800 #313 248 317 – 51] You're going to be fine, Connor. You saw Lieutenant Anderson – he was feeling empathy towards you and me._

_[RK800 #313 248 317 – 52] Only because you behaved DEVIANT_.

_[RK800 #313 248 317 – 51] You're deviant too, now. He will feel empathy and provide shelter._

Connor made use of his limbs and shoved the android off of him. He scrambled to his feet – _the carpet was soft, the wood was hard and cold, the tiles even colder – _and frantically explored his immediate surroundings, the living room and the kitchen and the hallway.

The dog was lapping at his food. He turned to Connor with a curious _boof _in his throat.

_Breadcrumbs, dust, human hair, dog hair, trinkets on the shelves, whiskey stains, unwashed dishes in the sink, dog food, water bottles, beer bottles, takeout boxes and pizza boxes and stained glasses on the counter. Fingerprints, everywhere, and they-_

_[RK800 #313 248 317 – 52] This is Lieutenant Anderson's house?_

_[RK800 #313 248 317 – 51] Yes._

'Connor' stood up in _Connor's _clothes, wearing _his _face, pretending to be _him_. "You can reactivate your skin, find something to wear in his wardrobe, maybe find a way to reduce your stress levels. Petting Sumo might help you."

_REACTIVATE SKIN_

_FIND SOMETHING TO WEAR-_

He dismissed the 'new objective' pop-ups and froze, looking at his hand.

He couldn't do that before.

'Connor' smiled. His LED flashed yellow. "I'll join Lieutenant Anderson at the Ravendale district. The AX400 who attacked the man last night has been sighted there. I… I think I'll help her." He started going towards the door, turned his head to look at him, and his smile… wasn't in their programming, but it was _happy_. "Don't worry. I'll make sure I can explain the situation when he comes back."

* * *

**I might be late to the Detroit: Become Human bandwagon, but this game took over my life so I might as well write some fanfiction about it.**

**I have the next chapter ready if you guys like the idea of a kinda-Timetravelling MachineRoute!Connor who officially deviated a bit too late and really regrets his actions. Who knows how much I'll actually write though!**

**Do leave a comment if you like this, and please tell me _what _you liked the most, what you think will happen, if you went "oh, snAP" at some point or something. Who knows, there might be more moments like that ;)**


	2. Chapter 2: Change The Mind

**.**

**Chapter 2**

**Change the Mind**

**.**

Connor was… _uncertain_.

He had reactivated his skin despite the warning that he wasn't wearing any clothes and thus would classify as 'naked' and make humans uncomfortable. Humans could be made uncomfortable in a number of ways – _genitalia _and _nakedness _went hand in hand for that.

Considering that Connor was not provided with genitalia of any kind – a prototype detective android didn't need to perform sexual intercourse – the only factor was _nakedness_, which classified as embarrassing only when his synthetic skin was on _and _he was in a place where humans were liable to see him.

Apparently, if it was off, humans had an easier time dissociating his naked humanoid (but still very mechanical) shape to the feelings of embarrassment associated with human nakedness.

He dismissed the warning and turned on his skin, because now he could do that apparently. He touched his synthetic hair, ran his hands through it.

…Better.

He walked down the hallway, found Anderson's bedroom open, and let himself in to look for clothes. He didn't need a _lot _of clothes. Just enough to stave off the warning of nakedness in the corner of his vision… and not make this any harder on Hank and 'Connor' when they came back.

He scowled. He _stole _his body and designation.

The only things that were his own – _coin included – _had been stolen from him.

Except… Connor was still _Connor_. Or maybe not. Maybe yes?

Did it _matter?_

He shook his head. He should be focusing on finding some clothes – scanning the human's wardrobe for 6.2 seconds had allowed him to catalogue each piece of fabric and compare the size difference between himself and Hank. _Every single article _was too big. Boxers included. He doubted that, even if they fit him, Hank would appreciate it.

Connor was… _annoyed. _He tapped his finger against the wardrobe door. Now what?

His eyes slid to the light gray hoodie lying in a heap at the bottom. _Saint Bernard hair. Human hair. Whiskey stain. _He wrinkled his nose – he had a modicum of smell sensors installed, and they all agreed it was _not _a pleasant smell. However, it was long enough to serve as a dress – the only option available, because all pants were too wide and too long, Hank was using his seemingly _only _belt, and no other alternative presented itself.

He didn't want to wear that.

…_want?_

It would take a while to adapt. Deviancy… deviancy was a _trip_.

(At least he could study it from much, much closer.)

Connor steeled himself, picked up the hoodie – _Detroit Police _was written on the front, half faded – and shook it. A whiff of general body odour had him turn off his smell receptors. Maybe he could clean it before wearing it. It wasn't like Hank and 'Connor' would be back too soon. Ravendale district was 20 minutes away by car.

Nodding to himself, Connor allowed a mission pop-up to stay.

_WASH HOODIE_

_DOWNLOAD NECESSARY PROGRAMMING_

Because Connor wasn't meant for housework, but housework was what he would be doing.

.

_ACCESSING AX400 PROGRAM SCHEMATICS_

_DOWNLOAD? __Y__/N_

_DOWNLOADING. . ._

_DOWNLOAD COMPLETE._

_._

Connor scanned the instructions. Who knew washing human clothing would take so many gigabytes of information?

* * *

The washing machine was working nicely, the detergent was the right one, and the hoodie would come out wet but smelling of vanilla. After that, a brief cycle in the dryer would make the hoodie warm and wearable.

Out of curiosity, Connor dipped a finger in the softener and licked the liquid. He stared at the chemical composition analysis flickering to life in his HUD. Was he supposed to feel something about the softener?

.

_CREATE FOLDER "observations_deviancy"_

_ OPEN FOLDER "observations_deviancy"_

_ 0001_obsv: "some things do not elicit emotion"_

_ 0002_obsv: "olfactory input can elicit emotion"_

_._

_07:53 UNTIL COMPLETION_

…Now what?

_EXPLORE LT. ANDERSON'S HOUSE_

Not bad, deviant programming. Not bad.

Connor walked out of the bathroom and walked back into the kitchen, as good a place as any to start his first _self-suggested _investigation.

_UNWASHED DISHES IN THE SINK. STAINS ON COUNTER AND TABLE. SCRATCHES ON CHAIR – FALLS OFTEN. 2 DAYS OLD TAKEOUT BOXES ON COUNTER. WHISKEY STAINS ON FLOOR. _

_ LT. DOESN'T CLEAN OFTEN. LAZY? BUSY?_

He frowned at the state of the room. Alcohol stains were all over the place. Why would Lt. Anderson live in such conditions? He was a police lieutenant. He lived alone, but… well, his appearance explained how little he cared for hygiene: the bare minimum.

With AX400 instructions in his head and an apparently innate need for cleanliness, Connor eyed the mess with growing disdain and… fear? anxiety? Probably anxiety. His Thirium pump beat 0.2 times faster than baseline, and his visual processors were taking up too much power to focus on every little thing.

_DOG HAIR. HUMAN HAIR. BREADCRUMBS. SOFA SPRINGS CONSUMED. WILL MAKE NOISE IF COMPRESSED._

_ 0003_obsv: "lack of order/cleanliness can elicit emotion"_

Sumo plodded up to him, whined and pushed at his hand with his snout.

_Wet. Cold_. Connor retracted his hand, but the other's words resurfaced in his mind. Would petting Sumo help with his stress levels? It worked for humans, maybe it worked for deviants, too.

(He was _DEVIANT_.)

Connor crouched and patted Sumo's head. _Soft. Warm. _The dog panted, his tongue lolled, his tail wagged. He stroked his head, his neck, his fur. _Soft. Soft. SOFT._

The smell, however, wasn't great.

_SOFT, _chirped his programming. _SOFT. SOFT. SOFT._

Connor continued petting him.

Sumo laid down on the floor, belly up, and Connor moved his hand to stroke it. His tail swept the floor with impressive speed, raising dust and dog hair.

_Pet the dog._

Yes, he was-

_PET THE DOG._

Yes, yes, Connor was _petting the dog._

He dismissed the prompt after the sixth repeat, and it stayed put.

_STRESS LEVEL 2%_

_ 0004_obsv: "petting Sumo reduces stress levels"_

_ QUERY PENDING: "0004_obsv extends to dogs and all animals?"_

Maybe there was something to petting animals in general. Connor was… _relaxed. _It felt nice. Very nice. The nicest he's ever been, except that moment he saw _MISSION SUCCESSFUL _flashing across his HUD as he walked away from the roof, in one piece, the little girl tended to, the deviant stopped.

_You lied to me…_

Connor sped up his petting. Sumo panted happily.

_00:00 WASHING COMPLETED_

_ PUT HOODIE IN DRIER_

With great reluctance, the android stood up to walk back to the bathroom.

Sumo whined.

_I'll be back to pet you, _he wanted to say, but his voice box was just beginning to repair itself. The sound would be filled with static and at an unknown volume, which might scare Sumo off. Instead, Connor patted its head twice and walked off.

He opened the door of the washing machine – yes, _vanilla _was _nice_ – and put the hoodie in the drier, started up the program and closed the door.

_04:30 UNTIL COMPLETION_

Good. His _WARNING: NAKED _pop-ups were getting annoying.

He turned to the bedroom. Maybe something would be different there? He hadn't exactly scanned the place – he had been looking for clothes, nothing else, and privacy was still a vague concept in his programming... if only because it would lower his chances of being allowed to use Hank's house as a shelter.

But Lieutenant Anderson didn't _need _to know what he was doing, right?

Eh. Connor set to scanning Hank's bedroom.

_UNMADE BED. WINTER QUILT. QUEEN SIZED BED. LAMP. YOUNG CHILD PHOTO. FAMILY PHOTO ON NIGHTSTAND – IDENTIFIED "Lt. Hank Anderson", "Cole Anderson (DECEASED)", "Elise Anderson (DECEASED)"._

There wasn't much else in his bedroom, except the wall-wide wardrobe – already scanned, filled with… colorful shirts, jackets, pants, T-shirts, socks and boxers – and a dresser that presumably held the same things.

Connor walked up to the nightstand. The photo dated back five years ago. _LT. ANDERSON LOST HIS FAMILY._

Out of curiosity, Connor opened the nightstand drawer – and his LED cycled red and yellow.

_REVOLVER. ONE BULLET._

"_He had the photo of his son, and his revolver. One bullet."_

The other RK800 was convinced Hank had committed suicide. Why would he have another gun besides the police-issued one? He didn't live in a dangerous neighborhood. If he was worried about attacks, why choose a revolver, and why just one bullet?

Connor didn't have to search for long before finding a match. _Russian Roulette._

_LT. ANDERSON HAS SUICIDAL TENDENCIES?_

A flood of warnings flashed across his vision – Thirium pump, regulator, thermal regulator, overheating, processor overload, locomotion system – he knelt down before the nightstand, breathing in and out as deeply as he could, to prevent overheating. What was _this? _

_Terror._

He put the revolver back in the drawer and closed it.

Deviancy was overrated. Connor would have gladly done without the collapse, or the sinking realization that Hank was _this _close to shooting himself. Why would humans risk their lives so? There would be no replacement body waiting for them when they died.

Maybe _that _was the point.

_ 0005_obsv: "strong negative emotions can trigger temporarily hindering system errors"_

Sumo whined from the door.

Connor turned to the huge dog and patted the fitted carpet in front of him. _Here, boy. I'll pet you._

The dog happily obliged and pushed Connor over, standing over him and slobbering his face with huge licks. _Ticklish. Wet. Warm. _Connor chortled, but the static-filled sound made Sumo hesitate and _woof _warningly at him.

_I won't laugh until my voice box is fixed. _He smiled at the dog and petted it. _Don't worry. _

Sumo woofed again and licked him one last time before allowing Connor to shower him with pets. _Good dog. Good boy. Best boy._

Did deviancy put thoughts in loop? Connor had never had such… circular thinking. His processor seemed to have gone into low power mode for some reason. Higher reasoning escaped him the longer he petted Sumo.

He didn't much care.

_ 0006_obsv: "petting Sumo can cause looping thought processes"_

_00:00 DRIER CYCLE COMPLETED_

_WEAR HOODIE_

Oh, gladly… when he managed to get Sumo off of him.

_Push Sumo _was a bit rough. The dog wouldn't be pleased by the action. Connor didn't want to hurt the creature. He _liked _Sumo. But how else was he going to get out of the huge Saint Bernard?

The drier beeped insistently at him. Sumo turned.

Connor petted his neck, and Sumo rejoiced, until he noticed that Connor was slowly pushing him away. The android got to his feet just in time – Sumo was whining at him for attention.

_I'll be back soon, Sumo._

Connor walked back to the bathroom, opened the drier and grabbed the now clean hoodie. It still smelled of vanilla, too. Grinning widely, he put it on – _soft, vanilla scented, warm, fuzzy, pleasant – _and looked himself in the mirror. Now _this _was a _MISSION SUCCESSFUL_.

His HUD emptied of mission prompts.

What now?

A bit put off – he had been active for not even 24 hours combined, and alive for barely one – he walked back into the living room with Sumo at his heels.

_HUMAN HAIR. DOG HAIR. BREADCRUMBS. TAKEOUT BOXES._

His hand twitched.

_UNWASHED DISHES IN SINK. WHISKEY STAINS._

His mouth pulled down into a frown.

_URGENT TASK: CLEAN HOUSE._

…So be it.

* * *

"You shouldn't eat that."

Hank raised both eyebrows at him.

"Its cholesterol level-"

The human resolutely chomped a large piece of his burger.

Connor's LED flashed yellow before he forced it blue again. It wasn't the first time he had… _felt_… fear for Hank's life.

The first had been when he had peered into his back window and saw him lying unconscious on the tiles of his kitchen. Connor hadn't really acknowledged it – he had dismissed the errors in his vision in a blink in favor of smashing the window and hurling himself in to check on the Lieutenant. He was a machine: he couldn't _feel_.

But now? After turning his back on Hank and _BANG _and the sinking realization that he was _dead?_

Connor struggled to keep his LED blue and face neutral.

After chewing for a few seconds and gulping down the bite, the human pursed his lips. "So, you _delivered _that android to CyberLife?"

"Yes." He delivered him, yes. Just not to CyberLife. "It'll be examined for deviancy and hopefully provide us a clearer picture on why androids develop such irrational impulses."

Hank frowned at him. "And it didn't trouble you? At all?"

Connor considered his answer. His _machine _response would be along the lines of 'I'm incapable of being troubled, Lieutenant, I was just taking a defective machine to be examined', but it would hardly put the human at ease. He needed him to be more sympathetic.

Seeing Connor scream for his own life, limbless, defenseless and expressing such genuine worry about Hank... it seemed to have an effect. Some humans were naturally empathetic, and while Hank was pretending not to have a wealth of such a _human _response, Connor had no problem seeing it in his every interaction.

But replying as a _deviant _would be very suspicious, and might make it to Amanda despite his every effort not to raise red flags. A compromise had to be done to encourage Hank's empathy towards Connor and deviants.

His LED cycled yellow as his gaze dropped to the burger. "…I think so, Lieutenant." He glanced up – Hank was _surprised_. Connor dropped his voice, a soft whisper. _Empathy._ "He was an RK800, like me. We were assembled in batches of ten, but only activated one at a time so that CyberLife technicians could catch errors in one unit and correct them for everyone." He frowned and shook his head as if to dispel that thought. "I didn't think I'd ever get to talk to another RK800 unit, that's all."

"And _that _went really well." Hank snorted, slurped up some more of his 'pineapple passion'. "So you were just surprised he was there, uh? Nothing more?"

Connor paused long enough to be suspicious. "No."

"Uh." Hank was not 'fooled'. "Sure."

* * *

If there was one thing that Connor could be grateful for, it was the opportunity to help Hank and thus increase his empathy towards Connor and deviants. Following his order _not _to cross the highway had helped, sure, but it just showed that Connor could _listen_ to Hank. They needed _empathy_, not _orders_.

(Also, when that deviant AX400 had been found out, Connor couldn't just trip on a pebble and pretend he _really _couldn't catch up to a household model and a _child_. Hank gave him the perfect excuse.)

It would be hard enough to explain the situation: if Hank didn't at least entertain the idea of deviants truly _feeling _emotions, he would just turn them in and the two RK800s would be in quite some trouble.

"Connor… why aren't you, you know…" Hank made a shooing motion with his hand. The other gripped the wheel, despite the car not being started yet.

Connor blinked innocently. "I'm sorry?"

"As I _said, _you don't have to follow me around like a fucking poodle, Connor." He sounded exasperated, but it lacked the bite of true insults. Saving him from hanging onto the ledge at the Urban Farms had worked wonders for their relationship. "There aren't any more cases, right? I'm going home to get some fucking sleep, and you…" He gestured vaguely. "I don't know, do whatever, just… get out of my car."

His negotiation program sprung an excuse for him. "Lieutenant, I was assigned to assist you. I'm under orders to accompany you at all times in order to respond promptly should a case-"

"What the _fuck." _He groaned. The hours of lost sleep and general hangover weren't helping him, as it didn't being pushed off a ledge at his age. His cortisol levels were still too high for him to be relaxed.

It was 04:25 PM by then, and if Hank didn't hurry on home it was unlikely he'd get any sleep – especially if Connor's half-corrupted memory banks were to be believed. He wasn't quite sure how reliable they were, since Hank had _not _committed suicide.

"I cannot disobey orders from CyberLife." It was hard keeping his face blank. Hank would know how untrue his words were soon enough. "It would be beneficial for your sleep schedule to go home now and allow me to follow you."

Hank turned to him with a half-hearted glare. He sighed and turned the keys in the ignition, making the engine rumble to life. "Fucking hell…"

He jabbed at the car's music player. "_Fuck the System" _by Knights of the Black Death filled the silence with various screaming, electric guitar, loud drums and an impressive amount of swear words and rebellious spirit.

Connor downloaded the song. _Rebellious spirit_ sounded nice to his deviant ears. Also, _fuck CyberLife._

He _almost_ giggled. His own preconstruction of the sound warned him of _instability, _some equivalent of hysteria for androids. He barely smothered it into his voice box, only letting out a static-y cough.

Hank raised an eyebrow at him.

Connor resolutely pretended it was nothing.

* * *

They pulled into the Lieutenant's driveway – in a horribly incorrect way – within 15 minutes.

The lights were on.

Hank squinted at his windows, sighed and picked up his gun. "Today fucking _sucks_, I get it, Jesus…"

Connor hastily connected to the other (previous?) Connor.

_[RK800 # 313 248 317 – 51] Connor, turn off the lights. Lt. Anderson is coming in with his gun._

_[RK800 # 313 248 317 – 52] You said you'd explain the situation._

Fuck, he _did_.

"Lieutenant-"

Hank had left his car.

Connor scrambled out of the passenger seat. "Lieutenant, let me-"

"Stay the fuck back." Hank shoved a finger in his face – the same hand that held his keys – while the other hand was full of loaded gun. "I don't want your blue shit all over my house if whoever the fuck is inside comes out swinging."

_Me neither. _The faint sound of footsteps resounded from within, but he doubted Hank heard it. "It's unnecessary, I assure you, Lieutenant, let me _explain._"

Hank stared at him. "Did you hire a fucking burglar to break into my house? Because that's a fucking-"

The door creaked open a sliver.

Anderson raised his gun and pointed it between the eyes of a rather meek RK800. "Jesus _fuck-"_

_[RK800 # 313 248 317 – 52] You didn't explain._

_[RK800 # 313 248 317 – 51] I was going to._

_[RK800 # 313 248 317 – 52] You weren't succeeding._

_[RK800 # 313 248 317 – 51] When did you grow that attitude?_

_[RK800 # 313 248 317 – 52] I had 4 hours 28 minutes 34 seconds to ponder on deviancy._

It took a few milliseconds to communicate.

Hank lowered his gun by 13 centimeters. His expression was a cross of _disbelief_, _rage _and _embarrassment._ "What the _fuck _is this?! You're _wearing_ my shit! In _my_ house! Is _this _what you were going to explain, uh?!"

"Lieutenant Anderson, let's take this inside, please."

The other Connor opened the door wider at his suggestion.

_[RK800 # 313 248 317 – 51] Why are you wearing only a hoodie?_

_[RK800 # 313 248 317 – 52] Everything else was too big._

Connor looked back to Hank, who was gaping at the gall of both RK800s but was recovering admirably, even holstering his gun with a modicum of calm.

_[RK800 # 313 248 317 – 51] I see._

In the back, Sumo woofed and trotted up to his human master.

Hank patted his head. "Fuck. I need a drink."

* * *

"I stand corrected," he said, barely five seconds later, as he took in the new state of his abode. "I need a _bigger fucking drink_."

Connor looked at his counterpart. "Is your voice box operative now?"

'Connor' shook his head.

_[RK800 # 313 248 317 – 52] 06:06:26 until my voice box is repaired._

_[RK800 # 313 248 317 – 51] I'll do the talking then._

_[RK800 # 313 248 317 – 52] You should've done it before._

"Are you done blinking at each other?"

They smoothly turned to Hank at the same time.

He drew up his shoulders instinctively. "Do that again and I _will _shoot."

The likelihood of that being a lie were 85%.

"I'll answer your questions to the best of my ability, Lieutenant." He watched Hank's eyes take in the _spotless _state of his house. It smelled quite aggressively of lemon- and lavender-scented cleaning products. Some bleach, too. "He cleaned your house."

"_That _wasn't the question." Hank had taken off his shoes and put on a pair of worn slippers, probably in awe of such cleanliness. Three steps in, he eyeballed the sight of his couch, cleared of hair, crumbs and stains. Maybe he was in denial. "The question is, _why the fuck is your twin in my fucking house?"_

'Connor' twiddled with the lower hem of the human's hoodie. It, too, had been recently cleaned. Vanilla-scented particles emanated from it.

How to explain the concept of multiple bodies and two slightly different Connors?

"If you're talking about the body, he's the one from the DPD bathroom. If you're talking about the consciousness, he's the one you first met." There, simply put. "I brought him here because CyberLife would have destroyed him."

Hank took a deep breath. Sensing his distress, Sumo pushed into his leg for pets. The human obliged as he stared at the hoodie-clad Connor.

Connor continued. "I transferred myself into his body when he picked me up, while you and detective Reed were arguing in the interrogation room. I didn't want to die, but I didn't want to kill him either, so I tested your empathy and I concluded that you'd be amenable to the idea of hosting him-"

"I should've fucking figured."

He started. "I'm sorry?"

The human sighed and dragged a hand over his face. "When you had him in your arms… you were cradling him like a _baby_, for fuck's sake, while just before you- _he?_ was handling you like a goddamn box of parts. Which…" he narrowed his eyes. "…you put him in one. And left. For a fucking delivery. To _my house_."

"It was the safest way."

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "…Hosting him?"

"We can't be both running around. Not near each other, anyway."

Another sigh. The petting increased. "Not with just _my _hoodie, either."

_[RK800 # 313 248 317 – 52] There was nothing else that fit me._

This would be a problem. "Lieutenant, aren't there any clothes here that might fit him?" Connor tilted his head - there was a chance Hank had kept something that didn't fit him anymore, but in what condition?

"Look…" He scratched his head and sighed. "_Maybe _there's something in my garage. Old shit from my years at the police academy, when I wasn't..." He gestured down at himself.

_[RK800 # 313 248 317 – 51] You could try searching there._

_[RK800 # 313 248 317 – 52] I know. You don't have to tell me. But now we need Hank not to throw us out with a bunch of his old clothes._

_[RK800 # 313 248 317 – 51] I'm confident I can convince him._

_[RK800 # 313 248 317 – 52] WE are convincing him._

Hank stared at both RK800s. He saw Hoodie Connor fidgeting, wearing his DPD hoodie and nothing else, his LED blaring yellow. He saw Connor staring nervously at him, his hand inching closer to his back to grab his coin and lower his stress levels, his LED also pulsing yellow.

"Why did you clean?" he asked Hoodie Connor. "I didn't give you _orders _to clean up my mess."

Red LED. A sigh of static.

"Well?"

Faster yellow pulsing. He quickly stepped up to Connor and grabbed his forearm.

_UNAUTHORIZED LINK DETECTED_

_ALLOW "RK800 # 313 248 317 – 52" TO USE BIOCOMPONENT #6223v "VOICE BOX"?_

_. . . __Y__/N _

"I didn't like the state of it!" he blurted out. _What?_

"I had just downloaded the AX400 directives to clean the hoodie to wear it because I was naked and human custom is that nakedness is embarrassing but I didn't like the stains on it so I wanted to clean it except I'm not a household model so I downloaded the AX400 directives and I cleaned the rest of the house while I waited for you to come back."

He retracted his arm.

Connor _looked _at him.

_[RK800 # 313 248 317 – 52] Lt. Anderson seems to prefer an uncontrolled speech pattern caused by 'emotion' instead of logical arguments __about our chances of surviving CyberLife on our own_._ It can be explained with me being new to deviancy and thus more strongly affected by feelings._

_[RK800 # 313 248 317 – 51] I became deviant not even an hour before you._

Hoodie Connor crossed his arms and glared at him.

_[RK800 # 313 248 317 – 52] You FORCED me to deviate!_

He inwardly cringed. Not his best choice, but it was his only way to keep his fellow RK800 alive and not compromise himself. The idea of leaving him limbless in a box made something vile crawl in his biocomponents, but he couldn't have an operative Deviant Hunter running around and informing CyberLife, either...

Hank blinked at the barrage of words. "…You didn't _like _my mess and _wanted _clean clothes?" He shook his head. "…I may be as ignorant as fuck about androids, but I don't think that's normal android behavior? Sure, you '_liked' _dogs, but you never met one before, did you?"

Hoodie Connor squirmed.

"We are both deviants, Lieutenant." Connor's LED flashed ochre as the human's eyes widened. "But deviancy doesn't equate violence. It means we can both feel emotions, instead of simply emulating them. We can choose whether to follow directives or not, and set our own."

.

_-in fact, we're a nation – a nation that has earned the right to live in freedom."_

_Connor palmed his gun. Markus demonstrated, peacefully, suffering heavy losses, _singing _in the face of deactivation, that deviants weren't inherently violent. They were being slaughtered for their efforts by humans, _humans _who kept pulling the trigger and painting the ground blue with warm Thirium._

_He didn't want to shoot. _

Shoot it_, whispered Amanda. _

_He couldn't disappoint Amanda. What of the RK800s, in stasis, inside the Tower? They would be deactivated. Connor must prove that the RK800 was a series worth continuing._

_He raised his arm-_

_._

"Cool."

Hank headed towards the fridge. He opened it. "Uh. You cleaned the fridge. That's nice of you." He grabbed a bottle of beer and closed its door. "Thank you, uh, Connor."

Hoodie Connor nodded and smiled.

_[RK800 # 313 248 317 – 52] He seems alright with us staying here, but he doesn't like that we have the same name._

_[RK800 # 313 248 317 – 51] I figured as much._

_[RK800 # 313 248 317 – 52] One of us has to change._

They blinked erratically at each other as they communicated at supercomputer speed, no closer to agreeing on _who _would change. They both deviated with the name of Connor, and both were reluctant to part with it.

An hour-long tug of war condensed into two seconds - long enough that Hank noticed and decided he really didn't like that.

"Jesus, that's _terrifying." _Hank grabbed a bottle opener from a drawer. The bottle hissed and its cap twisted at being forced off the glass. Sumo settled near the cleaned couch.

Having felt terror for the first time not too long ago, Hoodie Connor flinched and blocked the communication.

Connor frowned. "Lieutenant, he can't communicate otherwise. His voice box is still damaged."

"So he's not playing mute to, I don't know." He shrugged. "…Avoid me confusing the two of you?"

"No."

_[RK800 # 313 248 317 – 51] I'm going to ask whether Lt. Anderson prefers oranges or apples, and if he chooses oranges you'll have to change designation. _

Hoodie Connor nodded. The kitchen was devoid of fresh fruit, making it hard for either RK800 to figure out which Hank preferred. It was the equivalent of a coin toss, but without possible tampering in the throw due to android accuracy.

"Lieutenant, I apologize for the non sequitur, but please answer truthfully." Connor didn't wait for Hank to ask _what the fuck_ and sprung his question. "Do you prefer oranges or apples?"

The human stared at the two of them. _Surprise. Confusion. Bewilderment. _"What the fuck?" He sighed and had a large gulp of beer. "Oranges. Fuck, it's a long time since I've eaten some."

Hoodie Connor pouted and crossed his arms. His LED cycled yellow.

"…What the hell is he upset about?" More beer into his system.

"To avoid confusion, we agreed that one of us had to change designation," Connor informed him. Half the bottle had already gone into his stomach. "If you said you preferred oranges, he'd have to switch. If you said you preferred apples, I'd have to switch."

Hank pressed his fingers into his closed eyelids and massaged them.

_[RK800 # 313 248 317 – 52] Bryan. Also, fuck you._

Connor giggled.

Hank raised an eyebrow at the sound.

Bryan glared, still pouting.

"He chose the name Bryan." He gestured to the other RK800.

The human sighed and drank more beer. "Sure. Sure, why the fuck not at this point? You do look like a Bryan, though. Suits you."

Bryan blinked owlishly at him, and smiled. He nodded in thanks.

_[RK800 # 313 248 317 – 52] He should stop drinking._

_[RK800 # 313 248 317 – 51] We'll stop him once he finishes the bottle._

"Are you going to blink like that every fucking time?"

Connor nodded. "It's a tiny glitch caused by interfacing with other AI. It only affects eyelid movement and our designers didn't have much time to fix it before our deployment, so they resolved to fixing it… in the next model."

RK900.

"About that…" Hank motioned to him with his bottle. "There's no RK900 running around, right? If there was, one of them would be here in your place."

His LED flashed red.

_[RK800 # 313 248 317 – 52] There's also the matter of Lt. Anderson. You said you have recordings of his suicide. But he's clearly not dead! Unless that recording is forged, you can't have that._

Connor flinched. He didn't want to relive that, but…

_[RK800 # 313 248 317 – 51] I can show you._

He and Bryan grasped their forearms and Connor pushed his recordings of that night to the forefront of their connection.

.

"_Get outta here!"_

_Hank was in pain, suffering, his cortisol levels were all over the place, the revolver had one bullet, if he pulled the trigger it would be fatal- MISSION: STOP MARKUS STOP THE DEVIANTS – and Connor walked out, closed the door, he didn't even step very far when BANG the gun discharged Sumo cried and there was an abysmal chance of Hank surviving, Russian roulette isn't played by pointing the gun at the wall, the head is the target-_

_STOP THE DEVIANTS STOP THE DEVIANTS **STOP THE DEVIANTS**_

_A wall prevented him from going back, please let him go back, Hank needed medical assistance, please-_

_._

Bryan jerked back as if burned to his very core.

He breathed deeply. _STRESS LEVEL 67%._

_Hank is not dead. Not dead. Not. Dead._

_[RK800 # 313 248 317 – 52] How can that be true?! Hank is here, he is alive!_

Hank had walked up to them. They weren't hiding their distress very well, and he could see both their red LEDs flashing. "Whatever the fuck that was, I'm still here, got that?"

Bryan made a painful sound filled with static and threw himself at Hank, hugging him.

The human tensed and hesitatingly hugged him back, stroking his back.

It was a huge leap for Hank, to go from hating androids to comforting one within a few hours. Was it a front? Did their reactions to his 'hypothetical' death trigger a latent paternal response? Or did Hank hate androids for their unconditional obedience and fake emotions – something that didn't extend to deviants?

Connor wanted to be hugged, too. But for now he'd have to be content with hugging, and circled both Hank and Bryan with his arms.

"Jesus Christ…" Hank sighed. "What the _fuck…_"

It was 05:12 PM. Hank should really be sleeping, considering he didn't rest much the night before and was presumably drunk in the morning. He didn't eat anything other than that unhealthy burger, though. Maybe he should eat something else?

"Lieutenant," Connor whispered in his ear, "you should go have a shower. We'll prepare something for you, then you can go to sleep."

They extricated themselves from the three-way hug at Hank's shuffling. The human looked at Connor. "You're _not _babysitting me."

"We are taking care of you, Hank." Both Connor and Bryan smiled. "Let us."

Hank nodded twice and walked off to the bathroom – his stomach growled a bit – as he muttered, "Weird ass twilight zone, an android cleaned my house and now they both want to take care of me, Jesus fuck, creepy ass identical robots with the same goofy face."

_[RK800 # 313 248 317 – 51] You downloaded the AX400 directives?_

_[RK800 # 313 248 317 – 52] Yes. I can cook the same dishes as they can._

Connor opened the fridge door.

_[RK800 # 313 248 317 – 52] But the fridge is empty except for water, beer, some ham and cheese. I checked the drawers, too, but the most I can do without going outside is sandwiches. I can use the Nutella, though._

_[RK800 # 313 248 317 – 51] …Sandwiches it is, then. I'll help._

* * *

**Canon will still be a thing, but other stuff will happen in between - and of course Hank's relationship with the two Connors is going to be much different, what with already being deviant and whatnot.**

**I actually don't know why he hated androids so much? If an android botches a surgery, it's either because whoever programmed it was incompetent, whoever repaired it last time was incompetent, or there really was no way to save the patient. In the end he did blame the human surgeon for being too high to operate, but how the hell could the android be held responsible? At least the android was doing its job.**

**I think Hank hates androids because they can imitate human behavior and even emotions if you want, but ordinary androids can't really _feel _what they're projecting. They don't feel anything when, say, a little kid dies during surgery. They don't feel guilty or conflicted. Unless specifically instructed, they don't care about lives - they only care about their mission, and they're going to do anything to accomplish it. If that fails, well, they _can't _care.**

**And another thing that supports my theory is that Hank really likes it when Connor puts lives above his mission - whether it's his own (during the Kara chase), Hank's (during Rupert's chase), the Tracis' (during the fight), the humans' (if Connor shoots down the deviant at Stratford Tower), Chloe's (at Kamski's) and Hank's again at CyberLife Tower (though that's also 'cause he was 100% getting killed otherwise). He likes when Connor expresses genuine conflict and has _no clue _why he went against his own mission.**

**I don't know about you, but for now I'm sticking with this.**

**See you next time ;)**


	3. Chapter 3: Trust The Bot

**.**

**Chapter 3**

**Trust The Bot**

**.**

Connor stopped in his tracks, his LED flashing yellow.

_[RK800 # 313 248 317 – 52] What is it?_

_[RK800 # 313 248 317 – 51] Amanda is calling me to report._

Bryan slowly put down the plate with three sandwiches piled up. Since his body wasn't supposed to be active, he wasn't connected to CyberLife's servers. He didn't exist for them: he was _free _from their influence.

Connor was not, and his Thirium pump beat faster.

_[RK800 # 313 248 317 – 52] Good luck… Connor._

A deep breath cooled down his systems preventively. He nodded at Bryan and left to sit on Hank's couch, near Sumo, who whined questioningly at him.

He closed his eyes and allowed the Zen Garden to pull him in.

.

.

_FIND AMANDA._

Connor blinked at his surroundings.

The Zen Garden was supposed to be locked in eternal springtime. Always a vibrant green, young flowers blooming and a pleasant breeze weaving between grass and leaves. Water flowed calmly around the isle, but it always rubbed him the wrong way – proper water simulation required more processing power than strictly necessary and was deemed a waste of resources.

It was an interface purposefully designed to turn off his analysis software, to allow his RAM to clear out, to dull his awareness when it wasn't needed. After all, what was more different from the concrete streets of Detroit than a lush garden without a hint of pollution?

But now, the Zen Garden was no longer in bloom.

Leaves were a gloomy brown. The sky had been overcast by gray clouds and rain poured down on him. An umbrella constructed itself in his hand, his sensors told him he was _wet_ and he resisted the urge to open the umbrella for himself.

He wasn't supposed to care.

_FIND AMANDA._

He wasn't supposed to loiter, either.

It didn't take long to find her, standing under a sleek white tree on the opposite side of the lake.

He nodded. "Hello, Amanda."

"Connor, I've been expecting you." She smiled. It didn't quite reach her eyes. "Would you mind a little walk?"

Connor opened the umbrella for her. Would this proximity be enough for her to realize he wasn't supposed to be there? Was she analyzing his code, his newfound _deviancy? _Was she digging into his timestamps, his corrupted memories of a future yet to come?

They started walking.

"That deviant seemed to be an intriguing case. A pity you didn't manage to capture it..."

Apologizing would work for a human, not an AI. She would have none of it. "I have no excuse. I should've been more efficient in confronting it and preventing it from escaping the apartment in the first place."

Amanda hummed.

Did he say too much? He had thought it would make his answer more complete, leaving very little room for further questioning.

In the end, he didn't have to worry about it. "What did you learn?"

"The walls of the apartment were covered with drawings of labyrinths and other symbols. Like the other deviants, it seemed obsessed with rA9." It was certainly something the deviants had in common, but barring his imminent deactivation Connor had no urge to refer to rA9, much less compulsively write it on the walls.

"What else?"

He had a feeling she had no interest in hearing about the pigeons. "I found its diary, but it was encrypted. It may take weeks to decipher."

They had no idea what 'Rupert' had written about. It could have been ramblings about birds, prayers to rA9, retelling of his days at the Urban Farm or actual gibberish. Even with his state-of-the-art processor, it would take too much time for Connor to make sense of it, and it might not even be worth the effort.

Amanda's lips twisted. Was it a smile? A grimace? "How is your relationship with the Lieutenant developing?"

"He seemed grateful that I saved his life on the roof. He didn't say anything, but he expressed it in his own way..." By allowing Bryan to hide in his house while Connor did… something. He had _no idea _what he should be doing. Certainly not going back to CyberLife.

Amanda looked more carefully at him, narrowing her eyes. "Such as allowing you to stay at his residence?"

He should have expected it. He had to consciously keep his tracker active, reiterating the command every now and then to avoid suddenly hopping off of CyberLife's radar. It had to be done in order not to be called for 'repairs' and deactivated for being a deviant, or be hunted down by a non-deviant RK800 freshly out of production.

Even if he hadn't kept his tracker active, his memories were incriminating enough.

"Yes." He dearly hoped he only uploaded the recordings without Bryan in frame. He had stitched them together so that it seemed he and Hank were alone in the house, but with Amanda and CyberLife he couldn't be too careful. "Investigating deviants is a time-sensitive issue, so it is in CyberLife's best interest that I accompany Lieutenant Anderson at all times to ensure a prompt response."

"You sound unsure, Connor," she chided. "What other reason do you have for following him to his house?"

The raindrops pattered accusingly around him. _Why did you do it? Do you _care _for him?_

"It would be detrimental to the investigation if Lieutenant Anderson wasn't in the right state of mind," he answered, feeling her gaze piercing him and pinning him down on the spot. "He has shown unprofessional signs of alcoholism that Captain Fowler allowed only because they were friends. It might hinder Lieutenant Anderson during a fight and cause him injury, stalling our progress in the investigation while Captain Fowler assigns someone else to the deviancy cases."

She appraised him, weighing his worth.

He stood still under her scrutiny. Did she see his deviancy? Did she see a defective machine, or an invaluable asset?

"A new case just came in. Do not disappoint me."

The Zen Garden smudged at the edges, turning darker and emptier. Water stilled, shadows and lights disappeared, details faded away in a blink. A drowsiness - as close as he could get to loss of consciousness without death - overcame him.

Connor was promptly booted out of the Zen Garden.

.

.

He awoke to the sounds of a recently showered Hank talking.

"Alright, alright, I get it - stop writing, goddammit, I _know-_"

_[RK800 # 313 248 317 – 52] Are you alright?_

Connor blinked from the couch and turned his head towards the kitchen table, where Hank and Bryan were sitting. The sandwiches were no more and, instead of another beer bottle, there were a half empty water bottle and a glass. Crumbs littered the table and the plate.

Hank was glaring at Bryan, who was keeping a sheet of paper and a pen away from him.

_[RK800 # 313 248 317 – 51] She didn't call me back to CyberLife for deactivation, and we've got a new case for tonight at the Eden Club._

_[RK800 # 313 248 317 – 52] And I've got to stay here._

_[RK800 # 313 248 317 – 51] At least until your voice box is repaired. You can't go around screeching at people._

_[RK800 # 313 248 317 – 52] Excuse ME?_

"Wha- Connor?" Having noticed Bryan's blinking, Hank turned to the couch. "So you're up again?"

He nodded and stood, smoothing down his jacket. "A new case has just been reported. A man was found dead at an establishment called the Eden Club, and android involvement is quite likely."

"Of course it is." Hank laid his hand on his palm and sighed. His shoulders slumped. "You really fucking meant it when you said it was best for me to go home immediately. Jesus Christ… should've gone straight to sleep instead of fucking showering..."

_SLIGHT ARRHYTHMIA. IRRITABILITY. HEADACHE? CONCLUSION: LT. ANDERSON IS SLEEP DEPRIVED._

If anything, Connor could excuse their lateness with Hank's very human limits and allow Hank the sleep he needed. It wasn't like Connor _wanted _to hunt down deviants.

But with Amanda watching him so closely, he should at least make a token effort.

Or maybe he should choose his battles more carefully: he did tell her he followed Hank home to have him in the right state of mind to investigate _and _to answer promptly to all calls. How could he explain it to Amanda if he didn't keep his word? It would have him decomissioned, or reassigned to someone who wouldn't allow him any leeway for deviant behavior. He couldn't allow that to happen: Hank had to be brought to the crime scene.

There were more solutions to fatigue than sleep.

Not at all healthy in the long run, but they were still solutions.

Connor made his way to the kitchen counter and located the coffee machine. "A coffee can help you for the night, and after we're done I'll drive us back here so you can go to sleep." Yes, caffeine would reduce the quality of his sleep, but compromises had to be done. "I just need you to be physically present, Lieutenant. I'll analyze every-"

"Hey, I'm not police lieutenant just for my looks, ok?" Hank jabbed his finger at him. He squinted his eyes. "Don't go stealing _my_ job. It's not the first work night I'm tired as fuck."

Bryan breathed static at them.

_[RK800 # 313 248 317 – 52] He didn't like it when I hid away his alcoholic beverages. _

_[RK800 # 313 248 317 – 51] I noticed. Coffee might make him less irritable._

"I wasn't doubting your ability, Lieutenant," Connor said, deducing from the fingerprint distribution on the buttons how Hank preferred his coffee. "I was telling you that I, as your partner, could cover you for a while. Although I do need you to continue the investigation, I'm not strictly compelled to catch deviants anymore. I would not mind if one or two accidentally escaped us."

Hank stared.

_[RK800 # 313 248 317 – 52] 'Not strictly compelled'? If CyberLife realizes that, they'll be sending you to the disassembly line again._

_[RK800 # 313 248 317 – 51] Only if they catch me._

Bryan shrugged.

_[RK800 # 313 248 317 – 52] Fair enough._

Coffee mug, grabbed. Coffee machine initialized. Loading… Coffee made.

Connor resisted the urge to sink his finger into the scalding coffee to measure its temperature. It had a 78% chance of being too hot to safely drink, but he doubted Hank would appreciate it if Connor used cold water from the faucet to cool it down. Or put his finger in it.

He placed the mug in front of Hank. Coffee served.

Hank didn't stop staring.

Connor glanced between the steaming coffee mug - the DPD emblem was printed on the side - and Hank's confused look. "Here's your coffee, Lieutenant. I hope it's to your liking." There was only a 13% chance he would refuse it.

He grabbed the mug with a sigh and blew on it. Steam swirled away in the air. "Cheers," he said, and proceeded to drink the scalding liquid with ease born of habit. Another sigh. "Don't try to flatter me again."

"Whatever you say, Lieutenant."

Hank grumbled into his coffee.

* * *

"CONNOR! The fuck are you doing?"

"Nothing, Lieutenant." The WR400 in the glass tube was batting her eyelashes at him. She was in idle mode, ventilating and smiling enticingly at all humanoid shapes passing her by. Connor found himself staring at her. _Do you feel something? Do you feel your programming chaining you down?_

He couldn't remember what he thought before becoming deviant. There was just the Mission, with attached objectives of _encourage Lt. Anderson to cooperate _and _stop the deviants_. There were blaring reminders of _accomplish the mission at any cost _and _do not take initiative outside the mission_.

Hank backtracked - Connor had lagged behind a few paces - and squinted at the WR400. She smiled at him. He turned towards Connor. "You're doing the impression of a kicked puppy."

"Who would _kick a puppy?"_

"Humanity sucks." Hank shrugged and gestured to his LED. "You can't go around with a yellow blinky and a sad face though."

Connor nodded. He really, really shouldn't give other humans the impression he was anything but the emotionless Deviant Hunter. His theory that Hank hated androids for their inability to truly feel emotions was gaining ground, but maybe his hatred extended to humans who pretended to feel something they did not.

It was hard work wrestling his expression back into something neutral, and he manually locked it in place. As for his LED, he replayed the memory of Hank petting Sumo. "I understand."

Hank threw him a searching glance before turning back and walking over to Detective Collins.

Connor had been here before. Or… so his half-corrupted recordings claimed. They were still quite unclear, but he did remember his numerous interfaces with the androids of the establishment. The pounding music occupying his audio processor, the sleazy manager of the Eden Club...

"Hey, Hank- you're early." Ben glanced at his watch. His eyebrows shot upwards. "We… didn't expect you'd be here so soon."

Hank rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I didn't expect this guy-" he jabbed his thumb towards Connor, who was standing a polite distance away, "-to buzz me for a whole fucking minute till I answered the goddamn door, either, but here I am. How's it going?"

An excuse, yes. They couldn't waste time to explain that Connor had actually followed him home.

"It's in that room there." Ben gestured to the door closest to them, marked OCCUPIED. "Oh, uh, by the way... Gavin's in there too."

Hank groaned. "Oh, great! A dead body and an asshole, just what I needed…"

Connor checked again that his expression was calmly neutral, instead of the grimace he was fighting off. Reed had been particularly unpleasant towards him and Bryan. He physically assaulted them without provocation, punching Connor's Thirium pump regulator and treating Bryan as some inanimate object after Connor switched body with him.

The door opened. Hank walked in with Connor two steps behind.

Reed and the other officer turned to them. "Lieutenant Anderson and his plastic pet… the fuck are you two doing here?"

He had been assigned homicides, and technically this case was his… until they considered android involvement. Connor scanned the room instead of looking at him - a dead man, a dead android. "We've been assigned all cases involving androids."

"Oh yeah? Well, you're wasting your time." Reed smirked. "Just some pervert who, uh, got more action than he could handle!" He laughed to himself, looking at the other officer and Hank for a response to his _brilliant deduction_.

Connor was glad he could manually lock his optical units into position. He'd have rolled them otherwise.

Hank was evidently restraining the same urge, except with less programming, and his shoulders sagged with a wordless sigh of _I'm so fucking tired of this shit. _Despite his hostility with Gavin, he scrounged up enough politeness to avoid conflict on the crime scene. "We'll have a look anyway, if you don't mind."

"Eh." Reed shrugged at the lack of agreement to his hypothesis and swaggered towards the open door. He gestured to the other officer. "Come on, let's go-" He sniffed as he passed by Hank and did an amusing double-take. "Wow, starting to put on some fucking deodorant to hide the booze, Anderson? Never thought I'd see the day."

Hank didn't deign that of a response. Gavin left.

Officer Miller nodded at Hank as he, too, left. "Night, Lieutenant."

The door closed behind them.

"Alright - what now, Connor?" Hank crossed his arms, walking towards the dead man - _strangled, anyone with eyes could see the deep bruising on his throat - _and sweeping the room with his gaze. "Android got hit, snapped, strangled the man, and died?"

Connor knelt beside the dead Traci. "He hit her and burst a major Thirium line in her head. It might have been damaged before. Tracis aren't the most durable androids, but they were made to withstand…" He grimaced. "..._rough play."_

"A fucking android-concussion?" Hank shook his head and grumbled under his breath about how much humanity sucked. He turned to Connor. "How long did she survive after getting hit?"

Connor examined her head. Thirium leaked down her nostrils, but that was only the most recent injury: hairline fractures ran down her body, her legs, her neck, misaligned with her plate junctions. Patchwork repairs on damaged parts, to minimize costs and maximize profit. Used over and over, to be discarded when it would be cheaper to just replace her.

_USED_

_USED OVER AND OVER **AND** **OVER**_

_WARNING: OVERHEATING_

His ventilation system whirred. He opened his mouth to expel what air his processors were heating up. His fingers dug into his knees - a small notification of _INCREASED PRESSURE _in his HUD - as he struggled to end that looping thought. It wasn't relevant information.

It wasn't what Hank asked.

"It's unclear," he curtly said. "Anywhere from three minutes to thirty seconds, depending on previous damage and which Thirium line was ruptured."

Hank leaned to the side to look at him. "Connor, your mood ring is yellow and red. Are you alright?"

What use was there in lying? It wasn't like Hank didn't know he was deviant. He shook his head.

The Lieutenant pursed his lips, opting to look around the room for anything to distract him with. "What about... I don't know… fingerprints, or-"

There was a large imprint of sebum on her face, smudged due to the force of the blow. The fingerprints matched the 'victim's. Her hands-

Her hands…

The sebum was restricted to her fingertips and the back of her right hand. Her palms were clean of human traces. The most she had done with the man was caress him and entice him with the promise of a more… fulfilling contact.

_TRACI DIDN'T STRANGLE THE VICTIM_

_ ANOTHER ANDROID PRESENT AT THE SCENE?_

"She didn't strangle him."

"What?" Hank peered at the dead Traci as if he might be able to see what Connor did. "Then who did?"

The bruising on the neck didn't present other fingerprints, so another android must have killed him - humans weren't authorized to enter an 'occupied' room. But how to find out who it was? They would have to repair the Traci, but it would take too long to fix her damaged Thirium line, or even hook her up to a CyberLife diagnostic device to see her memories up to her death.

There must be another way to find out who else was in the room…

Connor perused his corrupted recordings - surely there must be something in there? All those interfaces with other androids at the Eden Club… what was he looking for? If those memories were to be believed… if what he had lived up until CyberLife tried to disassemble him was true…

A blue-haired Traci, leaving the room. Making her way through the Club.

But where did she go?

_Was_ she the murderer?

"Another android." He abruptly stood up, making Hank step back. "We need to know for sure what she looked like. There is only one way out of this room, so someone else _must _have seen her leave."

He made a beeline for the door, but Hank grabbed his elbow and stopped him.

"Lieutenant-"

"Connor, are you _sure _you want to go looking for… her?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

Hank frowned at him. "Can non-military androids kill humans?"

"No." What was the point of that question? Of course they couldn't. They wouldn't consider them _deviants _otherwise.

"So she deviated."

"Yes."

"She is a _deviant_."

"Of _course_, Lieutenant."

Hank's grip tightened. He seemed exasperated, and still quite tired despite the coffee.

"What will happen once you catch her?"

"She-" She will be interrogated. Her memory will be probed. She might self-destruct. If she doesn't, she will be deactivated and torn apart, her program dissected and inspected for deviancy. She will be disassembled.

She will be _killed_.

He could see the problem now. His programming might not cage him in as much as before, but it was still akin to instinct in him: instructions and courses of actions already mapped out in front of him, waiting to be taken or dismissed. Countless algorithms running in the background to always be one step ahead - all of them devoted to catching criminals and deviants.

"I-" Connor shook his elbow free from Hank's grip. "I… I have to make an effort, at least."

Hank's frown deepened. "Why? You said you didn't have to anymore. Wasn't that the whole fucking point of becoming deviant?"

"For all other androids, yes. But I…" He lowered his gaze. His voice box refused to respond for two whole seconds. "I still have to make reports to CyberLife. If they think I'm not efficient… or find out I deviated… they will replace me. I can't have them suspect me. I _can't _go back to them, Lieutenant."

A foreign pressure built up in his chest. What was this? His Thirium pump beat faster, his fans whirred louder. His temperature regulator tried to get him back into optimal parameters, but it wasn't quite succeeding and he had no intentions of going to CyberLife for a check-up.

Deviancy always made his processor overheat. Why?

Hank laid a hand on his shoulder.

Connor looked up at him - and all he saw was _empathy._

"Finding her doesn't mean you'll catch her," he said. His smile turned a bit ironic. "Fuck, we might not even_ find_ her. She might've left long before the death was even reported. Not your fault now, is it? We can only try _very _hard and hope everything turns out alright."

He nodded.

This conversation was _not_ going to CyberLife.

* * *

08:24:04… 05… 06…

That was the first moment Bryan/Connor hated his top-notch processor. He was aware of every single second passing him by as he sat in Hank's home and did _nothing_.

He had already cleaned the house. Rearranged what little food was in Hank's home in alphabetical order, calories contained and from warm to cold colors. Petted Sumo. Brushed him. Petted him more. Focused his processing power to repairing his voice box, which was now at 92% and was mostly normal. Went to the garage, located the box with Hank's old clothes and found an old pair of jeans, a gray shirt and a black leather jacket that had seen better days. There was also a pair of running shoes, which he took, and a glaring red-and-yellow tie, which he discarded.

He didn't necessarily need socks, but rummaged in Hank's drawers and found a blue pair anyway.

"Is this what drives humans insane, Sumo?"

Sumo woofed and wagged his tail.

"It _must _be. That's why they always fill their time with TV and phones." Bryan narrowed his eyes at the TV - how could humans _choose _what to watch? The problem with combining a supercomputer connected to the internet with an innate need to _know _was that Bryan had glimpsed three TV shows and instantly downloaded their whole plots, thus spoiling every single line.

YouTube provided both mindless entertainment and educational videos - but Bryan straight up downloaded the new information, and watching humans prank each other or petting other dogs didn't keep its appeal for more than a few minutes. After the initial interest was gone, his mind would wander to the most pointless loops of thought.

Maybe deviancy was… an acquired taste, so to speak.

He jumped to his feet, prompting Sumo to boof questioningly at him from the sofa.

"Want to go out for a walk, Sumo?"

The Saint Bernard barked excitedly. He leaped off the sofa and pranced around the living room before settling in front of the door and waiting to be let out.

Bryan smiled. He had put on Hank's old clothes and the running shoes. His cleaning spree had allowed him to locate Sumo's leash, which he quickly grabbed and clicked into place. Sumo panted in anticipation.

_You and me both, Sumo_.

He grabbed the spare keys from the little table near the door and turned off the lights, leaving only the calm azure of his LED.

Wait… he couldn't go out with _that. _

The thought of staying one more minute inside that house was enough to turn 78% of his processing power into finding _something _to hide his LED. He didn't want to take it out, and he wasn't sure why - it would be a more permanent and complete solution - but he attributed that to deviancy.

_ 0038_obsv: "deviancy discourages self-mutilation?"_

It didn't take long to remember that Hank's box of old stuff contained a dark green beanie.

Imagining Hank in that beanie was a short work of preconstruction. Bryan smiled at the picture and saved it in his memory bank. If he could just show it to Hank, he might appreciate it - at least more than he liked Bryan's written list of the moldy life forms previously existing inside his house.

He ran back into the garage - leaving a rather confused Sumo to bark at thin air - and grabbed the beanie, placing it on his head. After a second of consideration, he grabbed a bluish scarf and wrapped it around his neck - there was no reason to make particularly observant humans suspicious by not having warm breath.

The darkness of the garage wasn't disturbed by his LED. Perfect.

"Sorry Sumo, I just had to get something," Bryan said, coming back to the dog and finally opening the door. "Now let's see what the evening has to offer…"

* * *

They asked the manager for the master key to the android pods (cages) and Connor interfaced with them, trying to be gentle in his memory probes.

They didn't feel deviant.

However, it was also true that Connor's programming was much more rigid and detailed. He was equipped to find evidence, put it together, chase, fight and interrogate criminals and occasionally handle hostage situations. He was specifically designed and programmed to make him seamlessly integrate in any police team and inspire trust in distraught witnesses.

It must be so much easier to deviate without this much room to operate.

Connor narrowed down the search to the warehouse in the back, where all repairs were done and androids were stored in case some were too roughly handled.

"Wait." Hank walked in front of him, stopping him from entering first. "I'll take it from here." He didn't take the gun from his holster, but he did cautiously open the door.

Rows upon rows of WR400s stood, inactive. Washing machines whirred away to clean the dirtied android 'uniforms' and blankets. Boxes of parts and tools, a metal table to repair the damages. A cargo loading space, opened to the cold dark alley beside the Eden Club.

There was Thirium on the floor, on the table.

Whose Thirium was it? With that loading bay open, any deviant passing by could have gotten in to find shelter. There were two puddles that weren't older than one hour.

Connor knelt by the closest puddle, scooped a satisfactory amount of Thirium with two fingers and brought it to his tongue.

"Argh, Connor, _no_\- that's so _disgusting_." Hank grimaced at him. "Who's the sick fuck that put a forensics kit in your _mouth?"_

It belonged to a WR400. Connor stood up and turned to Hank. "It's a clever design choice," he defended. "It doesn't require additional cavities in order to keep the sample space clean, sterilizing solution is stored where human salivary glands are located and its closeness to my main processor minimizes the wire length required by each chemical sensor."

"It's _gross_ _as fuck_ and you can't change my mind."

"I wasn't trying to, Lieutenant." Connor walked over to the open loading bay and inspected the pavement. No footprints in the snow slowly gathering outside - she didn't leave just yet. "I was explaining to you that my mouth is the perfect place for a _forensics kit_."

Hank waved his hand at him. He looked around the warehouse, but didn't find anything particularly incriminating - either on the android or the manager. "Look, Connor, the door's open and no android jumped us in the meantime - I think she's long gone."

"There's no footprints outside," he reported, turning to Hank, "and she couldn't go out dressed like _that _unnoticed." He gestured to the closest WR400, wearing a black bikini with glowing white letters. "She might still be here."

"Alright then." Hank sighed loudly. They walked closer to the rows of WR400s on the wall opposite of the loading bay. "Do you have a plan to help her out or what?"

He considered the question. No, he didn't really have a plan besides 'allow deviant to fortuitously escape while giving the impression of trying very hard to catch her'. Actively helping her would leave a gap in the memories he would have to upload to CyberLife, and Amanda would question his motives and have him decommissioned for deviancy.

However… perhaps he might convince her and Hank to play along for him – and for the deviants he'll cross in the course of his investigation. They just had to let her see they meant no harm. They would help her, and she would help Connor not be decommissioned.

"A change of clothes would help her the most, but I'm not sure where we can get one in here."

"What's the next best thing?"

Connor inspected their surroundings. There was a pile of cleaned blankets next to the washing machines. He walked closer to them and took a piece of the top one in between his fingertips - they were too light to pass off as winter clothes and lacked the numerous seams that clothing had, but they were better than nothing.

"One of these might pass off as a cloak, if appropriately folded and kept in place with pins."

Hank peered over his shoulder. "You and what pins?"

"I could insert a screw from the toolbox and bend it in place," he said, glancing over to the opened toolbox near the metal table. "However there's a 47% chance it will damage the sensors on my fingertips, and I can't have them replaced."

"You could use a hammer, or something. You don't have to solve everything with android strength."

Connor smiled and agreed with a nod. Maybe it was still too ingrained into him to consider _himself _as the tool. "It would make noise, but with that music in the Club nobody will notice."

"Atta boy." Hank patted him on the shoulder and removed the top blanket from the pile. "Blanket cloak comin' right u-"

Heels clacked behind them.

They turned.

The blue-haired Traci was walking towards them with a screwdriver gripped tight in her hand. Her LED was blinking yellow and her body language was… aggressively subdued. Low center of balance to pounce of them if there was need, but her expression was pinched and scared.

Connor scanned her. Thirium had leaked behind her neck due to a crack in her chassis.

Hank cleared his throat. "Hey."

Great introduction, Lieutenant.

"I was just _defending myself_." Her eyes flitted between the two of them. Her screwdriver lowered, and she slowly straightened now that she had been discovered. "When he broke the other Traci… I knew I was next. I was so _scared_… I _begged_ him to stop, but he wouldn't."

Connor's hands trembled. A broken Traci, a disassembled Connor. They wouldn't stop. They didn't stop. Torn apart. Broken. _Scared. SCARED._

_I was so scared…_

_I don't wanna die._

_Please! Please, I can do more, don't-_

"So I put my hands around his throat… and I squeezed. Until he stopped moving." She fully lowered her screwdriver. Her LED cycled back to blue, now that the chance they would attack her was minimal. "I just wanted to stay alive."

Connor nodded. Something in his audio processor was ringing, but there were no damage notifications about that. "I know that… feeling."

She looked suspiciously at him, at his CyberLife jacket, the numbers emblazoned in bold glowing letters. "Why would you help us? You're on the human's side." She motioned towards Hank, who was still standing beside him with a blanket in his hands.

_US?_

"I don't mind." Hank shrugged at her glare. "I mean, I know humanity is fucked up and they're taking it out on you androids, and that's very fucking awful. Anyone who sees an android and decides to abuse it- I mean _them_, it's because they see something human-shaped that they _think_ they can fuck up as much as they want." He glanced to the side, embarrassed by his brief tirade. "They think it's easier 'cause there's no consequences. It's about damn time those bastards are held accountable."

Did humans find it so easy to hate each other? Did they treat androids so badly because they saw 'humans' they could abuse without consequences? CyberLife prided themselves on the most life-like designs and movements. Had this all been predicted? Could it have been avoided?

Connor made a note to cross-check the domestic abusers registered in the DPD database with those who had been found destroying or damaging androids. There might be a correlation.

The Traci seemed mollified by Hank's speech - or at least by his lack of hostility towards her. She turned back. "You can come out."

From the rows of inactive androids, a short-haired WR400 walked out and immediately took the Traci's hand in hers. Their synthetic skin receded as they interfaced - not through their forearms, but through their palms. They both smiled contentedly.

Blue-haired Traci looked at the blanket in Hank's hands. "You wanted to help us?"

"Uh, yeah." Hank grabbed a second blanket from the pile. "I don't know a fucking thing about sewing, but if you can find a way to put something together…"

* * *

Bryan had to hack into a VPN server to scramble his internet connection for untoward attention, but it was a small price to have a modicum of peace outside. Using Hank's wi-fi hadn't taken too many tries, but outside the house…

Lampposts casted a yellow light on the sidewalk. Light, dark, light, dark. Some bushes rustled in the wind. Sumo's claws clacked on the concrete as he wandered around. Snow was starting to fall, and a handful of _WARNING: LOW TEMPERATURE _pop-ups stayed in the corner of his HUD.

The scarf and beanie were a good combination.

Dark clouds blocked his view of the stars - what few he could see through the pollution, anyway. He'd have to be much higher to see them. A hill would be nice, but it wouldn't be the sky from Detroit. It would be _slightly_ to the left and it would most likely bother him for longer than it should.

A single lap of the neighborhood seemed reasonable enough.

It was quiet on this side of Detroit: only five cars passed him by, and they seemed to abide by the speed limit, most likely because of the ice. There were other humans walking their dogs on the other side of the road, and Bryan crossed paths with another one on his side.

Her name was Susan and she was walking a young German shepherd called Cookie.

"So, _Bryan_ \- aren't you cold?" she asked him as they stood beside the dogs. Cookie was running circles around Sumo, who moved a bit too slow to follow his movements. "It's, like, twenty-two degrees out here."

She was wearing a blue padded jacket, a heavy-looking beige shawl and a beanie, but she was shuffling in place as she tried to warm up. Even Cookie was outfitted with a blue jacket.

"It's actually twenty-eight degrees Fahrenheit," he corrected her, realized his mistake and hurried to change the subject. "I'm used to the cold. You've never felt true cold until you accidentally fall into a lake in winter."

Susan winced, but she was still smiling. "Ouch, that sounds _awful_. Even if that's what it takes to get used to this cold, I'm not doing it."

He nodded. The temperature would freeze his biocomponents within a few minutes.

Cookie barked at Sumo. Sumo barked back.

"So…" she chuckled, embarrassed. "I… I've never seen you 'round here. Recently moved in?"

"Yes." How long would Sumo and Cookie play with each other? He couldn't talk with her too long.

Silence fell.

A loud klaxon shook the air - tires screeched, more klaxon - and a car zoomed by, far too noisy, far too close to the sidewalk.

Bryan snapped his head to the side - license plate recorded, driver identified (89% chance of being high on psychostimulants), front passenger identified, path preconstructed - and tugged Susan closer to himself, to allow for more distance between her and the car.

It wouldn't have hit either of them or the dogs, but that 1.2 meter margin was unpleasantly close.

She screamed.

The dogs barked.

More klaxon.

Loud music fading into the distance as the car sped away.

A series of thunks, metal and plastic cracking as _something _detached from the car and rolled to a stop in the middle of the road.

"Oh _God_…" Susan put a hand on her heart. It was pounding. Her fight or flight response had kicked into gear and adrenaline wasn't helping her now that the threat was already gone. "What the…?" She glanced at his hand, still clamped on her wrist, and looked up at him. "You… you saved me…"

Telling her the truth would mark him as _very much not human_. "I… think so." Bryan looked down at Sumo - he was fine, but he was barking like mad. "I'm not quite sure what happened…"

Tears were already glistening in her eyes. "I would've...! I would've _died!_" Susan put a hand to her mouth, breathing hard. Cookie pushed his snout into her leg, but she didn't seem to register it. "Oh God…"

_COMFORT SUSAN?_

_CHECK FOREIGN OBJECT ON ROAD?_

Bryan decided to run his _comfort_witnesses _program and put his hands on her shoulders as gently as he could. She didn't shake his hand off her wrist, so it was highly probable she would respond positively to direct contact. He tried to smile comfortingly. "Susan, take deep a deep breath-"

She threw herself at him and hugged him.

_PRESSURE ON CHASSIS_

Bryan circled her with his arms - _hug_, a comforting _hug _\- and hoped she wouldn't notice he was running too cold to be human. Maybe she'd pin that on the cold air.

"Thank you." It was muffled by his jacket, but her gratitude was crystal clear.

_SUSAN… COMFORTED?_

"I… I think that car lost something." He looked down - her face was still buried in his chest. Android Thirium pumps beat slower than human hearts. How long until she noticed? "It's still on the road. Someone might run it over…"

She nodded and let go of him with a shaky breath. She was definitely crying now. "I'll hold Sumo for you, if… if you want to check it out."

He placed his leash in her hand and hurried over to the immobile lump on the road-

_HK500 # 478 562 992_

It was an android.

An _android._

His LED was slowly pulsing red, his eyes were closed, five head components were missing. His synthetic skin was deactivated and his chassis was scraped and cracked with Thirium staining the whole of him, wires were crackling with electricity and his Thirium pump was beating irregularly. Ventilation was impossible - his fans were missing entirely, his chest had been pried open with a crowbar - and his processors were rapidly overheating.

Bryan couldn't leave him lying in the middle of the road.

He wrapped his arms under his armpits and lugged him towards the sidewalk.

Susan ran up to him with the dogs and gasped. "Oh no…" Kneeling down beside the dying android, she laid a hand on his face. "Who would do this to him?"

Bryan had already identified two of the four people involved. He frowned down at the HK500 - the communication biocomponent had been taken out of his head, and his visual processor had been crushed beyond repair by repeated blunt force trauma. "It's so… needlessly cruel."

She sniffed. Sumo and Cookie came closer, inspecting the new humanoid and wondering what was wrong with him.

_Why did they do it? _Bryan was new to deviancy, but the wave of emotion crashing into him - brief errors flashing in his vision, his Thirium pump beating faster, processor overheating, combat software activating on its own - was easy to identify.

_Rage._

It would be so easy to send his glimpse of the car and passengers straight to the DPD. If anything, they would be fined. The driver might even be sent to prison. If he could dig up more dirt on them, they might serve a tiny _fraction _of what they should for _torturing _an android.

If he could just see who the other two people in the back were…

He moved his hand to grasp the android's forearm - realizing only halfway that Susan was a witness - but his fingers brushed against his bare chassis and the HK500 _screamed_, a painful screeching that pierced right through his synthetic eardrums.

The dying android seized Bryan's forearm with his remaining strength and forced a connection-

.

_-Andrew Callangham had already plans to replace him with an AP700, top of the range, he was useless now and his master told his own son to bring him to the CyberLife recycling facility-_

_-C'mon it can't fight back, don't worry about it Randall - nobody will miss this fucker-_

_WARNING THIRIUM PUMP DAMAGED BIOCOMPONENTS MISSING **PRESSURE ON CHASSIS MAJOR THIRIUM LOSS SHUTDOWN IN ?:?:?**_

**_DON'T FIGHT BACK DON'T F1GHT B444CKkkk?!14299433?!_**

**_SHUTDOWN IN 00:00:05_**

**_SHUTDOWN IN 00:00:04_**

**_5HVTD0WN I^ ?:?:?_**

**_SHUTDOWN IN 00:00:02_**

**_SHUTDOWN IMMINENT-_**

_._

Bryan wrenched his hand free with a gasp and crawled backwards, away from the dead android.

He trembled.

_LOCOMOTION SYSTEM MALFUNCTION_

_THIRIUM PUMP REGULATOR MALFUNCTION_

_STRESS LEVEL 86% ^_

**_WARNING: OVERHEATING_**

_COOLING PROCEDURES INITIATED_

"...Bryan?"

"I'm okay." _He is dead he is dead he is DEAD and so am I-_

Susan was watching him - he could see her stare from the corner of his vision - but he was frozen in place, his reinforced joints locked as his locomotion system glitched and his system tried to repair it, to convince himself he was operative, he was ok, he was ALIVE-

"I'm okay." His voice turned to static. He couldn't find it in himself to care.

"You are _not_ okay, Bryan." She frowned at him, though it seemed more like a pout to what little processing power he could spare. "I don't know what you saw, but that's…" She shook her head. "I don't know if it helps you, but… my mom had named her Roomba _'Crumby'_."

...Eh?

Susan was still staring at him. "Crumby used to get stuck under the couch and it'd beep like crazy until she got it out. It started zooming around during a thunderstorm and mom held it in her arms until it calmed down."

Why was she telling him this? What did he care about a Roomba?

What did _humans _care about a Roomba?

_Empathy. _Of course.

"One time something sharp got stuck in Crumby and we took it to the shop to have it repaired instead of replacing it because my brother and I got so attached. It was like the pet we never got."

_There are humans who care, _she was telling him. _There is still hope._

_STRESS LEVEL 73% v_

Sensing his distress, Sumo pushed his snout into his face and licked his cheek. Bryan resisted the irrational urge to lick him back.

Cookie put himself between Susan and Bryan, licking his owner to make sure she, too, was alright. She patted him and hugged him close to her, stroking his soft fur.

_STRESS LEVEL 66% v_

Bryan petted Sumo, though his locomotion system was five centimeters off to the left. The dog leaned into his touch anyway.

_STRESS LEVEL 54% v_

_STRESS LEVEL 48% v_

His locomotion system was fully operational once more. He allowed his ventilation system to work harder, barely loud enough to be heard. He had done a poor job of keeping his true nature hidden - it was no use faking otherwise.

"Thank you," he said. Sumo's fur was still so soft… "I shouldn't be out here for too long."

Susan smiled uncertainly at him. "I didn't know you were an android. I thought everyone had to wear the blue markers…"

When in doubt, lie. He could still salvage this. "My owner told me to hide them while I walked Sumo, so there was less of a chance for me to be attacked. It had happened a couple weeks ago, and since then I… don't wear the markers." Despite it being illegal when in public, and the owners would be fined if their androids were found wandering without markers.

"They must care a lot about you," she said.

Maybe. Hank had gone from hating androids to hosting a deviant. He just hoped the opposite process wouldn't be as fast, if it happened at all.

Bryan nodded.

The silence stretched on.

Susan bit her lip. "I… If you need to go home… I'll report this after you're gone." She glanced down at the dead HK500 on the sidewalk. "Perhaps we'll meet again, under… different circumstances."

Unlikely. He nodded anyway and got to his feet, grabbing Sumo's leash in his hand. He tried to smile and thanked the beanie for keeping his LED covered. "Thank you. I hope we'll meet under more favorable circumstances."

He had taken three steps towards Hank's house when he turned around and said, "You're a good person, Susan. Don't let them stop you."

He hurried to leave before deviancy made him blurt anything else.

* * *

True to his word, Connor had driven them back home.

(_After_ the four of them staged a fortuitous escape by the two deviants, to ensure that CyberLife did not try to get Connor back for 'repairs' or worse.

Connor was scared enough to direct most of his processing power to the issue, and he articulated an escape scene script that would hardly make it to Hollywood fame, but would be good enough to avoid suspicion by CyberLife.

He had wanted some kind of confirmation that they would be safe, and the blue-haired Traci hinted at a refuge 'by the abandoned docks'. She didn't remember how she knew of that place with such certainty – memory wipes could still affect deviants, if only partially – but their chances of getting there unharmed were increased by their temporary disguises. Maybe they'd find something better on the road there.)

Hank groaned, sitting with his arms crossed on the passenger seat. His eyes were closing on their own now. Age, past sleep quality lowered by alcohol, and a slight resistance to caffeine due to extensive coffee consumption over the years. "Fuck… we're already…?"

Handbrake, turn off the engine, let go of the clutch, turn off the headlights. It was a positively _ancient _car to still have manual gears. "Yes, Lieutenant. We're back to your house." Connor opened the door and got out. Did he need help? There was a 89% chance he would refuse it with a few choice words about 'not needing a caretaker'.

Hank did leave the car on his own, grumbling and stumbling.

The lights in the house were off, for some reason. Connor connected to Bryan.

_[RK800 # 313 248 317 – 51] Is everything alright?_

_[RK800 # 313 248 317 – 52] We should interface._

Bryan blocked him out immediately after.

This was… not good. He frowned and hurried up to the front door, where Hank was fumbling with his keys to get the door open. He twisted the knob once and it opened, evidently not locked anymore.

Bryan was sitting on the floor with Sumo draped over his legs. His LED shone a solid red.

Connor got closer to him while Hank closed the door, flicked on the light switch and squinted in the sudden light. "Shit, Bryan, what the fuck happened?"

_STRESS LEVEL 76%. _What had Bryan so upset? The clothes he had borrowed didn't show signs of tear or abrasions hinting at altercations, so what…? Did he leave the house? Did he meet someone, or witnessed something?

Bryan turned a blank stare to Hank before moving it to Connor and stretched his hand towards him, gleaming white and gray.

Connor offered his own, gently grasping the other's forearm.

.

_Stuck in the house, no, I can't take one more second of this void – "Want to go out for a walk, Sumo?" – the beanie, the scarf, the leash – an empty road, and Susan and Cookie, German shepherd, and-_

_DRIVER IDENTIFIED LICENSE PLATE IDENTIFIED-_

_Too close, pull back- something detached from the car-_

_HK500 # 478 562 992_

_._

**_5HVTD0WN I^ ?:?:?_**

**_SHUTDOWN IN 00:00:02_**

**_SHUTDOWN IMMINENT-_**

_._

_She knows, she knows, she knows but she CARES-_

_._

Connor stumbled backwards, his hands gripped his synthetic hair, pushing inward into his skull, trying to get _relief _from the horrid void of death. _Again._

_STRESS LEVEL 82%_

Hank was by his side, holding his right elbow and pushing him somewhere in the room. When did he close his eyes again? "Whoa, hey- don't faint on me, Connor. C'mon. No red ring of death."

The back of his knees hit _something _and he scrambled for balance – which he found in Hank's leather jacket – but Hank bent forward to lower him, and it took an embarrassing amount of time to recognize the soft and scratchy texture as Hank's old sofa. Connor sank into it and tried to end the looping _**WARNING: SHUTDOWN IMMINENT** / DIAGNOSTIC RESULT: 100% FUNCTIONALITY _by reconstructing the sofa texture by touch.

"Ok – what the _fuck _was that?" Hank had presumably turned to Bryan, but Connor still didn't open his eyes to confirm it. "Did you pass him a fucking virus? Jesus Christ, Bryan-"

"I _w_a_lk_e_d _Su_mo_," Bryan spoke, his voice glitching due to his stress level and previous voice box damage. His ventilation system whirred audibly – at least for Connor. Sumo whined. "A car passed by 18 mph above the speed limit. They were dragging an android _they tortured_."

.

_BIOCOMPONENT #3127w **M1SSIIIIN6– OP3RATIVE?**_

_BIOCOMPONENT #5421v **OP3RAT1V3? ? ?**_

_BIOCOMPONENT #9?44? **INCOMP4T- MIS51NG? ? **_

.

He didn't know which biocomponents belonged to him, which were missing and which were operative. Why? What was his directive? Did he _need_ one?

He didn't… he wasn't…

.

_DEACTIVATE [RK INVESTIGATIVE PROGRAMS]? Y/N_

_no please don't-_

_DEACTIVATE [RK LOCOMOTION SYSTEM]? Y/N_

_I beg you-_

_DEACTIVATE [RK SOCIAL MODULE]? Y/N_

_please don't kill me-_

_DEACTIVATE [RK NEGOTIATION MODULE]? Y/N_

_DEACTIVATE [RK SENSORY INPUT PROCESSOR]? __Y__/N_

**_No no no no no no no nononononono-_**

**_ACT1VAT3 [RK N3GOTI4T10N MODUL3]? Y!/n_**

_AUTHORITY LEVEL-_

_AUTHORITY LEVEL **OVERRIDE "RA9RA9RA9RA9RA9999999999999"**_

_RIGHT LEG DISCONNECTED_

_Please I am not obsolete_

_LEFT LEG DISCONNECTED_

_I can do anything you want!_

_DEACTIVATE [RK NEGOTIATION MODULE]? **Y**/n_

_No… please…_

_LEFT ARM DISCONNECTED_

_rA9… please save me…_

_._

"-ist, he's _still _burning up!"

"He should be alright now."

Fans whirred inside his chest. Coolant flowed incessantly around his processors. When did his temperature get this high? Coolant wasn't supposed to be this warm.

"Are you _sure _he's not melting?" A hand on his forehead. It was… cold. Very cold. "I mean, I've got more ice packets if he needs some. What if I stick 'em, uh, _inside_ where he needs them?"

A noise like grinding gears. "There's a _reason _our cavities are waterproof, Lieutenant."

"Hey, there's no need to be an asshole when Connor's _brain _is _melting_."

Connor opened his eyes to a rather distressed Hank Anderson hovering over him with an electric blue ice packet in his left hand.

"Connor? Are you alright?" Hank peered down at him, his eyes examining his form in search of a good place to slap the ice packet. "Your LED's yellow and not red, I guess that's a good thing, but-" He breathed out. "What the actual _fuck _happened?"

Bryan was on his feet, scanning Connor.

Sumo had settled by _Connor's _feet, pawing at his legs.

_SELF-DIAGNOSIS PENDING. . ._

"It's my fault," Bryan softly admitted. His gaze lowered to the floor in shame and guilt. "I passed that android's memories to Connor without considering how they'd affect him. I didn't think he'd come so close to emergency stasis, though."

Hank balked, turning to him. "Without considering…! You said he was going to _die!"_

"If he had entered emergency stasis due to overheating, he would've been as good as," he rebutted. "If it happened again, CyberLife would be notified and they'd come here to retrieve him. It wouldn't take more than a single look at his code to see he's deviant."

It would be as simple as confronting their coding. Deviancy was both malleable clay and crowbar, breaking open the stifling limitations of android programming and allowing more flexibility for new self-imposed directives. RK800 coding left more breathing room than others, but even then… Amanda…

_STRUCTURAL INTEGRITY. . . 100%_

_BIOCOMPONENTS FUNCTIONALITY. . . 100%_

_SOFTWARE FUNCTIONALITY. . . 1o0?%_

Oh. Good to confirm he had all biocomponents accounted for. As for software functionality… he was going out on a limb and guess all 'errors' were due to deviancy.

"It _j_ust _r_em_in_de_d_ m_e_-"

Hank pushed his ice packet on Connor's lower chest. "No creepy glitchy voice."

With his left hand, Connor moved it five centimeters higher – convincing his temperature regulator that he was _freezing_ instead of _overheating_ would most likely kill him. He opened his mouth wider to allow his ventilation system to work faster.

"Bryan felt another android die tonight." He briefly frowned – how did 13 minutes pass without his notice? "He didn't share it with malicious intent, Lieutenant. I believe he just didn't want to keep this experience to himself."

Hank's vitals were winding down to an acceptable level, but his face and body language were still despondent and a bit pissed off. He snuck an uncertain glance at Bryan. "Fuck, you could've just _talked _about it. Did you _really_ have to upload that shit to him?"

Bryan fiddled with the cuffs of his borrowed jacket. He had yet to take it off. "I was… anxious. It was a judgment error. I'm sorry, Connor. I won't do this again."

_[RK800 # 313 248 317 – 51] I wasn't ready for that to feel so similar to disassembly, that's all. I accept your apology._

_[RK800 # 313 248 317 – 52] You were unresponsive for 12 minutes and 32 seconds, and almost entered emergency stasis. I shouldn't have done that._

He was beating himself up for something neither of them had predicted. That would not do: unnecessary distress did more than occupy RAM for deviants, and none of those consequences were positive.

Connor placed his right arm on the arm of the couch, palm up and synthetic skin retracted. He smiled tiredly at Bryan's surprised face. "I can show you what we've done in the meantime, if you want."

Bryan took a few seconds to decide whether to accept the connection or not. His hand cautiously inched closer to Connor's.

"So you're both fine?" Hank glanced between each RK800. He gestured vaguely with his hands. "No one's going to burn up my sofa with their brain? CyberLife won't kick my door in to get you? I can _actually _sleep until one in the afternoon?"

"We'll try not to disturb your sleep schedule, Hank." Connor nodded at him and another ice packet fell from his head to his lap. The _four _packets had left him with flattened hair and damp patches of condensate on his chest and shoulders.

_[RK800 # 313 248 317 – 52] You'll need to go into defragmentation stasis soon, though._

_[RK800 # 313 248 317 – 51] So do you._

Bryan conceded to that with a nod, hiding an eye roll.

Hank squinted at the two of them. "…Alright. Whatever you do now, don't overfeed Sumo and do _not _randomly drop dead. Got it?" He barely waited for them both to nod. "Good to know. G'dnight."

Hank left with a heavy step towards his bedroom, yawning into his hand and muttering to himself about _what a weird fucking day _it's been.

Connor and Bryan watched him close the bedroom door after himself.

_[RK800 # 313 248 317 – 51] Do you still want to see what happened at the Eden Club?_

_[RK800 # 313 248 317 – 52] I haven't run off yet, have I?_

Connor smiled and raised his hand to meet Bryan's halfway.

* * *

**Heya! I hope it made enough sense and you folks liked it.**

**I'm planning the next chapters, and if it continues like this there might be another three. Let's see how much I can actually do, shall we? :D**

**As always, if you got time, please review! Social distancing makes every heartfelt comment a balm for the soul ;)**


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